Harry Potter and the Cursed Amulet
by Nibert
Summary: When all that's good seems evil, and what's right seems wrong, Harry is left in Darkness. Can he be helped? Will it take a blonde Slytherin to help him heal and accept?
1. Building Barriers

**Author's Note:** OK, well, glad you could make it. This is officially a "Sceptre of Azrial" rewrite. It should be a _lot _better than that tale, though. It was just really… bad. I didn't like it. Anyway, it will be a little different, a bit darker and there are a few plot changes I want to make. Well, I hope you enjoy the new story. I'll probably end up taking "Sceptre of Azrial" down, eventually.

Oh, and you've probably noticed how long this chapter is. It just wouldn't end. Well, I suppose most of my chapters will probably be shorter, although don't expect it to be by too much. This story will probably have quite long chapters. Sorry if you have a problem with that.

**Disclaimer:** What can I say? I do _not_ own the characters. That right belongs to J.K. Rowling. No, I just own this plot. I am making no money, this is just fun. This goes for all further chapters and the rest of this story. I won't post this again.

**Warning: **The "M" rating in this story was just a joke, for the hell of it, you know. Idiots! Of course it is serious. Yes, there are naughty, awful and bad things in this story. That is why it is rated "M". Insert Gasping Here Deal with it or leave. I won't warn you again.

Now, on with the show!

-:-O-:-

**Harry Potter and the Cursed Amulet**

I

_Building Barriers_

"Solitude vivifies; isolation kills."  
Joseph Roux

_The mist swirled around the solitary headstone lying askew in the loose soil of the graveyard. It danced along the rocky, uneven surface of the corner, where a wayward curse had struck the stone and obliterated a small section. The small breeze that accompanied it picked up the small particles that had been left behind and tossed them through the air, sending them dancing and twirling through the night sky._

_Harry lowered his wand, the words of the curse fading from his lips. He could feel the unworthy presence still cowering behind one of the headstones, petrified of the inevitable._

"_You can't hide forever," Harry hissed._

_A faint noise could be heard behind a gravestone, a shuffling of the feet, an anxious mistake. Harry gave a wry smile, pinpointing the exact location of his victim. Slowly he began his walk forward, the vicious predator bearing down on the helpless prey._

"Crucio_!" Harry spat; pointing his wand down at the cowering fool crouched behind the headstone Harry was looking over. The man dropped to the ground instantly, convulsing in pain, unable to heal and unable to die._

_"Had enough?" Harry slurred, a certain gleam in his eyes, joy shining for every pore of him. He was enjoying this immensely._

_The man could say nothing; his body cursed beyond repair. He could merely lie there and await his end. Harry snorted at how easily he had given up._

_"Goodbye then, Rufus Scrimgeour," Harry said. With that he raised his wand ominously above his head. Pointing it down to the ground he simply said, "_Avada Kedavra_."_

Harry shot up in bed, drenched in sweat, his head pounding in pain. His hand shot towards his forehead, gripping his lightning bolt scar and trying as hard as he could to stop the pain. Harry knew, however, that this was in vain. Nothing but time healed the throbbing pain caused by his vivid dreams.

Harry fell back down onto his bed at 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging and lay there, staring at the ceiling. He felt hollow, emotionally drained. It was the feeling that usually seemed to accompany his journey into Voldemort's mind. He tried to suppress spiteful emotions that still lingered in his soul, despite the connection to the Dark Lord being broken. He still felt the anger, the spite and the sheer unconditional hate.

Harry tried as hard as he could to let the emotions go, to open a door and let them pour out and flow away. He thought of the happiest memories he had: flying through the air on his broom, playing wizard's chess with Ron and long nights spent in the common room with Hermione simply talking.

Slowly the bad emotions began to seep away and the pain drifted with them. Harry felt himself become Harry again and sighed at the relief that washed over him. Harry just lay there and let the happier times in his life wash over him and sooth his pain.

That small happiness was short lived, however, when Harry heard his uncle's voice bellow at him from below.

-:-O-:-

Ron sat at the kitchen table of The Burrow, trying his hardest to concentrate on the 6th year Potion textbook Hermione had forced onto him. However, he wasn't having much luck. He really didn't care what the various ingredients to whatever blasted potion he was reading about were, nor did he care how they were to be prepared. He also didn't care where this potion originated, how it was designed and the subtle stirring techniques it required. Besides, he had something far better to do with his time.

His eyes once again slid over the top of his book and rested upon the beautiful Hermione Granger, absorbed in her Potions textbook.

Ever since Hermione had arrived at The Burrow, Ron was amazed at the transformation that must have occurred during the few weeks she had spent with her muggle parents. Her hair had been straightened – at least as straight as her bushy hair could get – apparently with some weird muggle apparatus, as magic was not allowed outside school. She has also had it cut, so it fell down the side of her face in short locks that framed her face beautifully, the curls at the end bobbing against her shoulder. That was the major difference, and it was this difference that led to Ron discovering just how beautiful Hermione's face was when the bushy hair didn't mask it. Now, Ron took it upon himself to stare at Hermione for long periods – namely, whenever she made him read.

Ron was startled out of his thoughts by a rapping at the window. He turned to see Harry's owl, Hedwig, hovering outside the window. A broad smile overtook his face and he launched himself out of his chair to let the owl inside. Hedwig flew inside and the fluttering of wings was enough to rouse Hermione from her trance-like state. A broad grin spread across her features as Ron's had across his.

"What did he say?" Hermione asked, as Ron tore the letter from Hedwig's leg and began opening it.

"Will you let me read it first?" he replied sarcastically, mock annoyance replacing his goofy grin.

"Well, will you hurry up about it!"

Ron looked back down to the letter and proceeded to complete opening it, the grin once again taking up residence on his face. He paused as he read the letter, his grin replaced by a look of confusion before finally settling into a frown.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, worried. Ron just handed her the letter as a response.

_\ Dear Ron,  
/ That would be great, thanks.  
\ From,  
/ Harry._

Hermione bit her lip firmly, her worried expression growing in intensity. Normally her friend would be thrilled at the idea of coming to The Burrow and escaping his awful relatives, but his reply was short and blunt and Hermione worried what that meant. It most certainly couldn't be a good thing, that was for sure.

-:-O-:-

Harry lay on his bed, tears slowly trickling down his cheeks, his uncle's words still ringing in his ears.

_"You'll never be good enough…"_

Harry tried all he could to forget his uncle's words that rang ominously in his ears, but the handprints on his face that still stung red wouldn't let him forget them.

_"You'll never amount to anything boy…"_

Harry felt like his body was about to give out, like everything was about to end. He heart ached and his body ached with it. He wished it would all just end.

_"You're the reason that idiot boy and your stupid godfather are dead…"_

Some had somehow told Uncle Vernon everything, and his taunts struck Harry deeper than they ever had before.

_"You won't be able to kill him, boy…"_

Harry chest ached, but still his minded whirled, driving him deeper and deeper into his lone misery. No one else would ever be able to understand him.

_"You'll be the reason everyone else dies…"_

Ron wouldn't understand. Hermione wouldn't understand. Not even Dumbledore could understand the burden.

_"When you can't kill him…"_

He was alone.

-:-O-:-

Harry sat, staring out of the window of Number 4 Privet Drive, watching the world pass him by. His trunk sat packed beside him; Hedwig fluttering about in her cage on his other side. Harry's mind was blank, his body felt hollow. Sadness crept around the edges of his consciousness, threatening to wash into him and devour him in one swift, foul motion. He vaguely sensed the sadness there and that fact in itself saddened him. But he couldn't cheer himself up – there was nothing happy to cheer himself up with.

"You going somewhere, boy?" his uncle spat at him, having noticed the trunk and caged owl. Harry wasn't supposed to take his things out of his room unless he was leaving, his relatives didn't want to look at them unless it signalled his leave.

When Harry didn't immediately reply, Vernon Dursley swept forward and turned Harry's chair around in a mad gesture so that Harry no longer faced out the window but into the centre of the room. Vernon clasped the top of Harry's shirt and pulled him to his feet.

Slapping him hard across the face, Vernon said, "You answer me when I bother talking to you, you understand?" Vernon's face didn't move an inch, his eyes boring into Harry's skull, penetrating Harry's brain, seemingly reading his thoughts. Harry felt the sadness stampeding in from the edges and fill him up, overwhelming him. He felt tears well up behind his eyes, threatening to break free of their prison and stream down his face.

"You understand, boy?" Uncle Vernon reiterated, punctuating his words with another slap across the face. Vernon's face shook with rage and Harry feared another outburst was imminent when they were interrupted by the loud and deliberate sound of a man clearing his throat from behind Vernon.

"I hope I am not interrupting anything," Albus Dumbledore said, perfectly calmly as if he just walked in on the two of them watching television. His face matched his voice and the only glitch in the calm portrait was his arm raised and tensed, a wand clutched in his hand. Vernon immediately dropped Harry to the floor.

"You can't use magic on me," Vernon said, but he still backed away from his nephew, knowing full well that Dumbledore wouldn't mind breaking that rule one little bit.

"Come on, Harry," Albus said, his presence cheering Harry slightly, although not enough for a smile. Nevertheless, he pushed back the tears and forced himself to be strong, immediately standing and making a move for his trunk.

"Never mind them, Harry," Albus said, flicking his wand and levitating them through the air.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry answered politely, although his head remained in a fairly lowered position.

"You better not..." Vernon began bravely, although his nervous showed in his voice.

"Goodbye Vernon," Albus stated loudly, his voice rebounding off the walls of the small lounge room. With that the two of them, Hedwig and all of Harry's belongings were gone.

-:-O-:-

Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter apparated to the gate of The Burrow and for a moment neither moved. Harry's body still shook slightly, his mind still playing for him the memories of what had just happened. He felt miserable and even the sight of The Burrow, the sight of an escape, couldn't cheer him up.

"Harry," Dumbledore said softly, when he finally broke the silence. His voice was calming and reassuring, although it did little to break Harry's foul mood. "Did it happen often?"

Harry nodded in response; it was all he could manage. He bit his lip, hoping his Headmaster wouldn't probe too deep.

"Come on," Dumbledore said, placing his hand on Harry's shoulder, "let's get you inside." Harry was grateful he left it at that and let Dumbledore lead him up to the Weasley's front door. As Dumbledore knocked, he found himself feeling a slight twinge of fear, but he quickly buried it not letting himself believe he feared seeing his friends.

"Who is it?" Molly Weasley's voice drifted through the timber door and met Harry's ears.

"The Cheshire Cat and the White Rabbit," Dumbledore replied instantly. Harry eyes shot up from their position trained at the ground. Harry heard the sound of several locks being charmed out of their shut position and old hinges being moved. Soon, Harry saw Mrs Molly Weasley standing in front of him.

"Albus," she said happily, "Harry. Come in, come in." She stood to the side and ushered them into the room and kept them moving into the kitchen where she promptly sat the two of them down at the table.

"Tea?" she offered.

"Thank you, Molly," Albus replied kindly. Two sets of eyes turned to Harry.

"Yes, thanks," Harry answered, some of the gloominess still evident in his voice, although most of it was masked well.

"Oh, Harry, the family'll be so glad you're here. We've all missed you so..." Molly said, her murmurings continued as she made the tea. But, Harry wasn't listening. He was finding the wood grains in the tables far more interesting.

"Molly," Dumbledore politely interjected, noticing Harry's distant mood. "Harry has had a rather... trying day, and it is getting a little late. Perhaps it would be beneficial if we let him rest."

"Of course!" Molly exclaimed, as if it had merely slipped her mind. "Come, Harry, I'll show you to your room."

Harry stood up, grabbed his trunk and owl that Dumbledore had levitated behind him for some time and followed Molly Weasley up the stairs towards his bedroom. He lumbered through the doorway, with his luggage in tow.

"Oh, let me help you with that, Harry," Molly said kindly. She flickered her wand and, muttering something Harry couldn't hear, his trunk instantly flew to the foot of his bed and proceeded to unpack itself, his clothes flying into the wardrobes. Harry hobbled towards his bed and collapsed onto it.

"Well, sleep soundly Harry," Mrs Weasley said, closing the door behind her as she left her room. She went to leave down the hallway but decided on something first. She flicked her wand and placed a locking and silencing spell on the door so that only people on the inside of the room could open the door and they couldn't hear the cacophony that was sure to ensue when everyone learnt Harry had arrived. Harry looked awfully troubled.

Harry was left alone in his room as Molly headed off down the hallway. He sighed, looking up at the ceiling. Almost instantly, he was asleep.

_He stood in the middle of a graveyard, Death Eaters circling around him. They were sneering at him from behind their masks, he could tell. Their malicious words were ringing in his ears. Taunting him. Hurting him._

_"You'll never be good enough…"_

_"You'll never amount to anything boy…"_

_"You're the reason that idiot boy and your stupid godfather are dead…"_

_Then he saw them, two figures standing in shadow at the back of the graveyard, partly shielded by headstones, partly masked by the darkness. Harry ran towards them, wanting to touch them, feel them, talk to them. But when he got there, they just stared at him before turning their backs him and walking away. They blamed him, Harry could tell._

_"You won't be able to kill him, boy…"_

_"You'll be the reason everyone else dies…"_

_"When you can't kill him…"_

_Then memories of Voldemort's twisted features came back to him._

_"_Avada Kedavra_!"_

Harry awoke in a sweat, shaking from head to toe and clutching the covers tightly around him. His eyes were wide and blank and stared at the far wall of the bedroom at The Burrow. He felt scared, he felt lonely, but mostly, he felt guilty.

He didn't move, excluding the constant shaking, or even try to move. He just lay there, as miserable as ever, wishing the world would just leave him alone and pass him by.

-:-O-:-

"Hermione, we have to do something," Ron stated, pacing back and forth in front of the locked door to Harry's bedroom.

"Ron, there is nothing we _can_ do," Hermione stated, matter-of-factly. "She thinks he needs his rest, so she's locked us out. There's nothing we can do about that."

"Well, we have to _try_," Ron emphasised, hoping to persuade Hermione. A long pause ensued as Ron continued to pace as Hermione sat watching him. "Do you think we'd get in trouble if we did magic outside of school?" Ron asked casually, his pacing halting for a moment.

"Ronald Weasley," Hermione began, her tone strong and forceful, her eyes threatening, "don't you dare." When Ron just shook his head and turned his attention back to pacing, Hermione was satisfied that, at least for now, she'd stopped him.

She watched him pace back and forth in front of that door and felt a small smile creep across his face. He looked so passionate, so determined and it was that loyalty to his friends that she loved about him. Well, it was one of the reasons she fancied him anyway.

"Dear, dear brother, what has your knickers in a knot?" Fred, or George, said as he sauntered down the hallway towards them.

"Yeah, what's wrong little Ron-I-Kins," George, or possibly Fred, mocked, squeezing his younger brother's cheeks condescendingly.

"Ged offa me," Ron mumbled, flailing his arms towards his older brother and trying to force him away. Unfortunately, George or Fred, whichever it was, held firmly onto Ron's cheek and Ron merely succeeded in causing himself more pain.

"He's trying to get into Harry's room," Hermione said, saving Ron, "Mrs. Weasley locked it."

"Oh, well little brother, why didn't you say so," Fred said, messing up Ron's hair as he did so.

"Yeah, unlike you, some of us can perform magic _out_side of school."

With that, the Weasley twins aimed their wands at the door and together yelled, "_Alohomora_." The combined force of their magic not only unlocked the door, but also set the door swinging into the room on it's hinges, opened wide for everyone to enter through.

Fred and George stood triumphantly at the door, with Ron standing beside them rubbing his cheek. In one minute they were still, and then the flood of people streamed into the room.

Harry rolled over in his bed and faced the door, looking at the familiar faces that seemed like old memories. He hadn't seen any of his friends for so long, and so much had happened since, that they seemed so different, almost unrecognisable.

Fred and George both seemed to have grown at exactly the same rate so that it was still impossible to tell the two of them apart. Although he didn't see too many physical differences he noticed something very out of place about them. They weren't the prankster boys Harry had known at Hogwarts. No, these were men, immersed in life, well aware of its hardships and its blessings.

Ron still looked like Ron, mostly, except that he'd bulked up. He was wider now, with broader shoulders, and had grown throughout the summer so that he now would've been one of the tallest in their grade, Harry assumed. Ron's face had also matured, and he noticed his features had become far more defined. His freckles had started to fade slightly, too, which seemed odd – although his red hair was still as flaming as ever. Somewhere this summer Ron had gone from a cute, naïve boy to hot.

Hermione, however, was the most shocking. All right, so it wasn't like he'd never noticed her body before, it was just that it was never her most predominant feature. Now, well, it still wasn't her most predominant feature but it was far more striking than it had been. She still wasn't exactly a Veela, but she had un-bushified her hair and she had really grown into her body. She had been a bit awkward the previous year, still getting used to the idea of an adult body, but now she seemed taken to it and used to it. Harry even suspected _why_ she may have wanted to flaunt her looks and that made him smile.

"Harry?" Hermione ventured. She broke the silence that had taken over the room. All it took was that little crack and the surreal noiselessness of the room was shattered. Immediately Harry was flooded with questions concerning everything from his opinions on the latest Quidditch outcome, so the current state of his health. Harry was overwhelmed.

"Stop," he finally blurted out, softly yet sternly. "Just, stop." The four paused in anticipation, waiting for him to answer all their questions, despite the sheer number.

"Can I eat first? I'm starved," was what he said instead.

-:-O-:-

Harry didn't eat a great deal during breakfast and he didn't talk much either. He just sat there, swirling his egg around on his plate, smothering everything in the runny yolk fluid turning it a lovely yellow colour. His friends talked cheerfully around him and he resented that, the fact that they could be so fallacious.

Although he wasn't looking anywhere beyond his plate, his could sense the concern. He could tell from the way they kept shooting questions at him, which he would only answer with incoherent grunts, that they were trying to distract him. He could almost see the looks of concern they were exchanging, it was that obvious. He just continued to swirl his eggs and his sausages (which he'd mashed into a pulp) into a lovely substance that had an awful resemblance to vomit.

"Come on Harry, you really should eat something," Hermione coaxed, concern dripping through her voice like poison. Harry could feel them all watching him and he looked up into a room full of eyes looking sensitively at his condition. He glared at Hermione and rose from the table, sending his fork bouncing across the table with a loud clatter.

"I don't need your fucking pity." Even Mrs Weasley was too shocked to comment on his language. His voice was soft and low-pitched and delivered with icy-venom. "And stop looking at me like I'm some fucking alien."

With that, Harry stormed out of the room.

-:-O-:-

The next few weeks passed in a distorted haze. Days overlapped into other days, and Harry felt like a snail in a world of bullets. The Weasley house was filled with bustle and activity and joy and mirth. Harry felt none of this. Harry felt desolate, alone and confused.

For the first few days after he arrived, Harry was locked up tight. He wouldn't talk to anyone, he would barely eat and he disappeared a lot. No one was ever exactly sure where or for how long he'd be gone, but every attempt to find him in these times failed. Although the Weasley's were poor, their house was situated on a surprisingly large expanse of ground.

With time, Harry began to soften and open up. He began to eat and his mysterious disappearances became fewer and farther between. He even began to talk to people, although when the subject went deeper than idle talk he cowered and excused himself from conversation and, once again, retreat to his room or the grounds.

Hermione was worried. This just wasn't Harry. Harry was energetic and full of life and vitality. He loved life and usually basked in happiness and joy, even in the gloomiest of times. Nowadays, however, Harry seemed more like an empty shell, drained of life, almost like a victim the Dementors had kissed.

She currently sat in the lounge, her legs splayed over the couch beside her. She was leaning on her arm, which sat on the couch's arm, and staring into fireplace that was currently devoid of life, just like her Harry.

"Something the matter?" Ron said, plonking himself down on the couch beside her and interrupting her thoughts.

"Hm? Oh, nothing," Hermione answered. "Just worried about Harry."

"Oh, me too," Ron replied, his gaze also turning to the nonexistent fire.

"What do you think has happened to him, Ron?" Desperation was evident in her voice, although her voice and her mood still remained fairly calm.

"I'm sure he's just taken the loss of Sirius hard," he said, gulping as he said Sirius's name.

"Yeah, I'm sure you're right, Ron. I just can't shake the feeling that there's something more, though, you know?" Hermione's head turned abruptly towards Ron as she asked her question and he just nodded in reply. They both shared a small, knowing smile and turned back to the empty fireplace.

-:-O-:-

"Diagon Alley."

The green flames leapt around her feet and in an instant she was gone.

"OK, Harry, you're next."

Harry thought it was amazing how fast his time at The Burrow had gone. It seemed not long ago that he had escaped the hellhole that was 4 Privet Drive and had come to The Burrow, and now he had received his Hogwarts letter and journeying to Diagon Alley to get his school supplies.

Stepping up to the fireplace he took a handful of glittering powder from the flowerpot Mrs Weasley was holding. Raising his hand high he threw the powder forcibly onto the grate.

"Diagon Alley," he stated clearly as he stepped into the fire. Immediately he felt the familiar tug of the Floo Network and he was off, shooting between the fireplaces at break-neck speeds. Soon he felt himself jerk to the left and was sent flying out of a fireplace. Still unaccustomed to Flooing, he landed on his hands and knees.

"C'mon," Ron said, picking Harry up off the floor, "get up!"

It wasn't long before the rest of the Weasley clan were standing around the fireplace as well, and they headed off to do their shopping. Harry followed the family at an unnecessary distance, keeping his gaze firmly planted on the pavement immediately in front of him. He knew that his friends would be worried with his anti-social behaviour, especially considering that Harry normally relished his visits to Diagon Alley, but that didn't concern him.

As they entered Gringotts, Harry slipped away from the group and found a small insignificant looking goblin. Handing over his key, Harry went down to his vault alone – save for the goblin, of course.

As Harry's vault came in to view and Harry saw the gold numbers scratched into the doorway, Harry's face fell further, if that was possible. As the goblin opened the door to him, Harry had to shut his eyes to avoid looking at the money piles for as long as he could. Where once they symbolised freedom and escape to him, now they just remind him of what he had had to loose to get it.

He quickly took some money out of the vault and returned, with the goblin, above ground.

By this time, Harry had absolutely no idea where Hermione or the Weasleys were, however he knew they would find him. Mrs Weasley would even resort to violence if she had to, something that was quite a rare event. That fact made him feel loved and smothered all at the same time. He cared about his friends, but sometimes he just wanted some space. They all showered him with attention and, although not the same attention that the rest of the world gave him, it was still attention. Harry had never liked attention.

He decided to buy his books first, as they were obviously the most important things. Although he had a few to get, they wouldn't be too heavy, he hoped, and at least then he knew how much he could spend elsewhere. As he entered Flourish & Blotts he took out the sheet of paper that had been crammed in his pocket and went about selecting the books that he required.

He quickly found Standard Book of Spells: Grade IV and collected it. As he began moving beyond that, he found the books harder to find. Normally his school texts were displayed prominently, whereas now, it seemed, they weren't. There also seemed quite a few more books than normal, although Harry wouldn't have been surprised if it was just his imagination.

Soon he was heading up to the counter with his pile of books, paid and left.

His journeyed continued to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions where he bought a few new school robes to replace some that were getting either too small or too tatty. After he exited there he breathed out long and deeply, knowing that he now had the rest of the day free.

He decided to head to Eeylops Owl Emporium to buy Hedwig a few special treats. Hedwig was the best owl Harry had ever come across and he liked to spoil her, almost like a grandfather spoiling his grandchild. He didn't mind what people thought, Hedwig was a good companion to him. Plus, she had the bonus of not worrying about him endlessly.

After that, he decided on a trip to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. Florean recognised him immediately, and gave him a little more ice cream than perhaps was considered passable for what he paid for – Harry having refused to not pay at all.

As Harry sat at a small table outside the shop and surveyed the scene. Diagon Alley seemed a little more empty than usual in Harry's opinion, however he dismissed the thought as fancy.

Harry sighed as he saw a first year press his face up against the glass of a shop window, gapping in awe at the broomstick that hovered there, magically suspended in the air. He reminded Harry of himself, a younger self, back when he was young and excited and naïve. He had so much to live for then. He had had his whole life ahead of him. Now, he had just a few years.

He heard a purposeful cough behind him, which broke him from his reverie, and he turned to see his Headmaster standing over him. Harry smiled, but Dumbledore's face muscles didn't move from their vacant expression. Harry's face began to frown and he was about to question him when he heard the unique cry of Molly Weasley.

"_Harry_! Oh, we were so worried. You can't just go wandering off like that. We were so worried. I even called Albus in I was worried so much. What, with the Dark Lord back and…" Molly was fussing over him as she said it, making sure he was unharmed.

"Harry," Dumbledore interjected, his voice sterner than usual, "you must be more careful."

"But Professor, I'm in a public place," Harry answered, still confused, "why would Voldemort attack…"

"Harry," Dumbledore interrupted, sitting beside the Gryffindor, "Voldemort has returned to power now, and he is no longer in hiding. He is quite free to attack whom-so-ever he wishes, and publicly if he so wishes that, too. I implore you to be more careful."

Harry was stunned. Sure, he had realised that with the Ministry recognising Voldemort's return the information would become public knowledge, and, in fact, he had even read things about it in the Daily Prophet. However, he just hadn't thought what that would mean for _him_. There were other more important things connected to that night that that wasn't something he had thought about.

"Yes," he answered meekly, nodding. Dumbledore seemed satisfied, for he stood, said his goodbyes and disappeared with a loud crack. A long silence followed his departure as Harry sat, wallowing in his guilt, and the others just looked around silently at each other.

"Come on," Mr Weasley said after a while, "let's go to the twin's shop; cheer everyone up."

Harry perked up slightly at this. He had heard things from Fred and George about their joke shop and was actually interested in seeing what they were doing with themselves.

As they wandered along Diagon Alley towards Fred and George's shop, Harry realised that there actually _were_ less people in Diagon Alley, and it wasn't just his imagination. Voldemort's return was having an effect, fear was creeping back into people's lives and Harry felt a great weight fall on his shoulders at this thought. He was the only one who could put an end to that.

"Did you get your school books, Harry?" Hermione asked him casually. Harry mumbled a reply that would pass as a "yes". He wasn't looking, but he knew the concerned look she gave Ron; it was committed to memory he had seen it so many times.

"Good," Hermione continued, her voice not betraying her concern, "I hoped you wouldn't have as much trouble as Ron; what with all of those Defence books that are cramming the shelves now."

"Hey!" Harry heard Ron's belated protest at the joke Hermione had made at his expense. He decided to ignore it.

"Defence books?" Harry asked, interest creeping into his voice. Hermione heard it, and she took the opportunity.

"Filled with protection spells against You Know Who and all that."

"Oh." His tone dropped back to disinterest.

"Some of them aren't half bad, actually," Hermione persisted. "Actually contain spells that work." She paused when Harry grumbled something. Her tone softened as she said, "I bought you some, Harry, if you want them."

Hermione got the reaction she was after, which wasn't much, but it was still a _reaction_. With Harry in the state he was, anything that held more than a pinprick of emotion was a good sign.

"Oh, Hermione, you really didn…"

"It's OK," Hermione cut in, "they're decent books and I know you like the subject."

"She just wants to make you read, man," Ron said loudly from beside her, licking an ice cream, which Harry didn't know he had had or where he had gotten it.

"Now, Ronald, I did not say that," Hermione said, a slight bashfulness was shown in her voice and, Harry noticed, in her eyes.

All conversations (or arguments) were ended when Mrs Weasley's voice was heard, announcing that they had arrived at her twin sons' shop.

-:-O-:-

Harry sat on the Hogwarts Express, staring blankly out of the window. He saw the countryside fly past at amazing speed as he ran his hand through Hermione's hair again. He was content in this moment, in some strange way. The peace, the quiet, the solitude. He just wished this quiet limbo would last forever.

It didn't.

The sound of rusty wheels turning came from outside the door. He heard them come to a halt, and the sound of the locked door sliding open like only the sweets woman could make it do. Harry knew that once he flicked the lock on the door, the Hogwarts Express wouldn't allow the door to open to anyone except her. They had been lucky to get one of these private compartments right up the front.

"Would you like anything dear?" she asked softly, obviously noticing his sleeping companions.

"No thanks," he said, showing her the small assortment of sweets that he already had with him from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. She nodded, and went back to moving up the train, the door sliding and locking itself behind her.

He had liked the Weasley's shop, it had been so interesting and busy and full of life. Not to mention the hundreds of different products that Harry had wanted to try. Everything from sweets that made you vomit or filled your stomach or lasted for days and tasted different every hour to prank sets that Harry was sure to cause even the sanest, calmest, most composed person to loose it. Perhaps the Weasley twins had done something impossible: found a way to make Dumbledore loose his temper.

But then a memory flashed before his eyes, and he knew that such a thing wasn't impossible.

That flare of anger on Dumbledore's face, the hatred written across Voldemort's, the taunting sneer of Bellatrix Lestrange and Sirius falling through the veil…

_Sirius…_

Harry bit his lip and his head dropped. He decided he had to think of something else. He turned his attention back to Hermione who lay collapsed in his lap. A small, fleeting smile swept across his face as he remembered the face Ron had pulled when he saw it, but it was soon gone. Ron now sat asleep across from him, too.

They had had a late night last night, when the gnomes in the garden had somehow gotten in to the house and run around leaving havoc in their wake. By the time they had finally gotten the gnomes out, rather late at night, the ghoul had been awakened. The ghoul at Ron's, unfortunately, believed that if they couldn't sleep then no one would. Consequently, everyone had been up all night listening to loud noises originating in the attic.

Everyone had been up most of the night, and Mrs Weasley had decided they should leave for the Hogwarts Express early so that they could all get a secure cabin to sleep in.

So, here Harry was; sitting on a seat with Hermione sprawled along the rest of it with her head on his lap, Ron sleeping upright across from him, and Ginny curled in a ball on the floor. Harry was the only one who wasn't asleep, but he wouldn't sleep. He could sleep when he was behind the curtains of his bed, which he'd expertly silenced. Not before. They had all done enough fussing.

Harry looked out of the window and saw the giant Hogwarts castle come in to view. It was spectacular; the sight of it always took his breath away. It was a magnificent, tall building that stood in the midst of beautiful countryside. Harry couldn't wait to explore it all. He had found some sort of solace in nature during his time at the Weasley's; the quiet beauty of the forest, the slow trickling sound of water, it all made him believe that there had to be something more. That gave Harry comfort.

He roused his friends from their slumber, gently shaking them awake one by one.

"We're here," he told them all softly in their ear. Within five minutes they were all fairly alert, collecting their things and were unlocking the compartment door. They headed off down the train's corridor and were soon assaulted by a group of three first year girls. Or rather, Harry was soon assaulted by a group of three first year girls.

"Oh my God," one of them squealed, "it's him, it's Harry Potter!" Her friends just gaped at him and stared, as did their friend, all of them too awestruck to say a word.

Harry sighed. So it had begun. His sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He just hoped it would be better than his last.

-:-O-:-

**Author's Note:** Long, yes? I think I like nice long chapters. Sorry about how long this took to come out. Yes, I know. I was going to put it up on the 1st of January, then the 21st and I just couldn't get it to finish. I've been busy, yes, but I've been meaning to be writing this more. It just didn't want to be written at the times I could write. It's out now. Hopefully the later chapters will flow a little easier and I can update sooner. Hope the fact that the chapters are long can comfort you.

Will you review for me, please?

Now, I am nit-picky. Anything at all you want to raise, raise it. From petty grammar errors (I sort of have my own ideas when it comes to grammar and sometimes it just isn't right) to the fact that a character was, I don't know, supposed to be missing a leg. Anything at all. I want it to fit with cannon (from the first five books, anyway) as much as possible.

Oh, lastly, please review. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. I really want to know what you think – better, worse, brilliant, crap. Anything. Just don't yell at me for the story being to mature, or the gay themes. It's rated "M", what did you expect? And I don't want some sexualist, homophobic rant. I won't even waste my time reading it.

Did I ask you to please review? puppy dog eyes

Wow, that was a long Author's Note. Not normally that long, I assure you. I guess I just had a lot to say.


	2. Facades

**Author's Note:** Second Chapter. YAY! Oh, and the story's taken such a detour from the original that I'm taking it down.

-:-O-:-

**[Harry Potter and the Cursed Amulet]**

II

_Façades_

"False face must hide what the false heart doth know."  
William Shakespeare

Draco Malfoy sat close to the window, staring blankly out at the beautiful countryside. Hills flew past and the landscape was lost in one long blur. He suspected that it wasn't just the speed of the train that distorted the landscape like that. He was sure it might have had something to do with him not paying attention.

He was far away, sorting through a barrage of thoughts that threatened to take over him and drown him. He feared that he would soon loose himself in the tangled webs of thought and confusing spectrum of emotions. He was confused, that much was certain, but beyond that he really didn't know.

His summer had been hard, filled with unexpected twists, turns and distasteful developments. Had his friends not also been in this compartment, Draco may have cried as he thought about what had happened. But they were, and Draco would not let himself show weakness in front of those who would extort it. Instead, he hid it behind his patented Malfoy mask.

"Draco? Eh, Draco? You want to buy something?" Blaise's voice cut through his thoughts. Draco was put off for a second as he turned away from the window, noticing the scene in front of him.

Blaise was sitting directly across from him, occupying the only other position next to a window. Next to him was Theodore Nott, who seemed to be obliviously reading. Draco wasn't sure when he had come in and why he was here, but he guessed that Blaise may have befriended him. Perhaps "friend" wasn't the right word to use in that situation as he suspected Nott's father's status as a prominent Death Eater may have had something to do with it.

The only other occupant of the cabin at this point was Pansy, who was sprawled across the seat, her head resting on Draco's shoulder. He found it weird that he hadn't noticed it there, although maybe he had just gotten used to it, it being there so often and all. He found _that_ more than a little creepy. Crabbe and Goyle were in sight, just outside the cabin, greedily grabbing a large portion of sweets from the trolley.

"No," Draco sneered, remembering how he was meant to act, "I don't eat that peasant-grade garbage." With that Draco turned his head back out the window and sunk back into his thoughts.

He tried not to think about had happened during the summer; tried to distract himself with thoughts of Quidditch and school and other trivial things. At one point during the journey he even tried distracting himself by talking to his friends. Unfortunately none of it worked. The thoughts of his horrific summer came crawling back, pushing themselves into his mind. Had he not known better he would've said a Dementor was close, feeding off his misery, but he did know better. It was just his masochist mind replaying the despair and the misery.

All too soon he felt the train slow and knew that his temporary reprieve was coming to an end. All too soon he would have to face people. All too soon he would have to pretend like nothing had changed. All too soon he would have to sneer and jeer at those he was supposed to hate.

He had kept asking himself when they had gone from people he hated to people he was supposed to hate, and he hadn't been able to pinpoint it. Sometime during the summer everything had changed, and Draco feared what that meant.

-:-O-:-

Harry stepped out of the train, his head bowed, staring at the pavement ahead of him. The school year had only just begun and already he didn't like it. A large percentage of the younger grades – and even some of the older ones who still weren't over the fact that he was Harry Potter – were staring him at. As he made his way towards the thestrals and the carriages they pulled, he saw someone.

Luna Lovegood was walking just off the designated path, swinging some sort of bag in her hand and humming to herself. She was off in Wonderland again, it seemed. As he approached her, however, he discovered he was wrong.

"Oh, hi Harry," she said, just as Harry went to say something.

"Hello Luna," he replied in return. "How were your holidays?"

"Oh, not bad," Luna replied, her voice light and whimsical, her eyes focused on nothing in particular. "I spent them with my father tracking Whooping Glaxbapies across the plains of Africa. Interesting stuff, you know, Harry."

"Yeah, I'm sure they are." It was the only reply Harry could give, having never even heard of Whooping Glaxbapies. Not that he'd heard of many of the creatures Luna talked about.

"What about you Harry?" Luna asked.

"Not too bad," Harry lied. He feared that telling the truth would be a bit of a conversation killer, or it would guarantee him someone to add to his list of sympathy-givers. He wanted neither of those.

They left their conversation at that as they continued up the path towards the awaiting carriages. On the way he overheard an exclamation from a student not far away.

"Fuck! What are those disgusting things!" Harry turned around to see Draco Malfoy, frozen to the spot, his face a pale shade of white. Although, perhaps it was just his normal complexion. It was hard to tell.

Harry would have rolled his eyes at the perfectionist attitude of Malfoy, had he not noticed what he was looking at. Malfoy could see the thestrals. At first Harry was shocked, having realised the implications that came along with Malfoy seeing thestrals. Then, slowly, his mind began to function again and soon he realised _why_ Malfoy could probably see thestrals. What better way to see death than in the service of Voldemort, right?

-:-O-:-

Draco sat in the corner of the coach, trying to avoid blatantly staring at the haunting-looking creatures pulling the carriage. He watched their skeletal forms pounding along the path; he could see their bones grinding together as they moved towards their goal. Their dark leathery wings were folded at their sides, but he could see the small, yet deadly, talons that protruded from the end. The worst were their eyes. Glowing white orbs that pierced into him, judging him, making his skin crawl. He shuddered every time he even thought about those ghostly eyes.

However, he said nothing. Soon after his earlier outburst, Theodore Nott had explained to him what they were and, more importantly, what they meant. He had shut up after that. Perhaps having Nott around had been a brilliant idea. It was lucky that there had been few people around when he had shown his disgust. It was very likely that no one even heard.

He prayed that was the case.

Draco kept one eye on the beasts the whole journey, as if he was worried they would turn on him and show him what those talons and fangs could do. To be honest, he partially was. The things looked so harrowed and malicious that he thought they could truly be described as "pure evil". Plus, they were symbols now; symbols of his soul-crushing summer.

A sigh of relief escaped Draco as he dismounted the carriages and alighted the steps to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He took in the sight of the castle before him – its tall towers and amazing spires, the marvellous, well kept grounds that stretched for miles, the enormous wooden doors with their intricate cravings that marked the entrance. For the first time since he began school he truly appreciated the peace and tranquillity of the castle and the beauty of its grounds. The castle was worthy of compare with Malfoy Manor. He was glad about that. This place was about to become his refuge.

"_Hasn't it always been?"_

He frowned at the thought that swept through his mind like it had a life and will of its own. It seemed so strange and foreign that Draco could not believe that it was his. Although, he could definitely see the truth behind the statement. He had never really thought about it as such, but he had always preferred it here to home and he had assumed it was the freedom. He now knew it was the peace.

"Draco, come on!" Pansy whined, attempting to drag him up the steps to no avail.

"_Partial peace, then," _Draco corrected himself. _"An escape from Lucius."_

He began to ascend the stairs, following his friends into the Great Hall and the feast that waited therein. He could sense the cheer in the air, the festivity, the sheer excitement at being back inside the castle walls. Sure, school was a bitch, but Hogwarts was more than just a school for many. To them, it was a paradise.

Draco slid into the long bench at the side of the Slytherin table, taking the position that he had occupied since first year. He listened half-heartedly to the conversations that his friends were having, but he made no real effort to participate. He was in a rather pensive mood, finally having time to think and reflect on the past two months. While it was happening, there hadn't been time for thought, just action. Now he had hours for thinking and months of thinking to catch up on.

Soon Dumbledore's voice pierced through his thoughts, echoing through the Great Hall. Draco must have missed the sorting, as the first years sat amongst the other students, talking eagerly about the house they had been chosen to be a part of.

"My dear students," he began, "welcome to another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I hope that, for all you returning students, it is better than all your previous years combined. For all of you who are beginning your time with us this year, welcome, and I hope Hogwarts becomes a home-away-from-home for you." He paused here, his voice taking on a different, more serious tone.

"I feel that I must remind you of several things or, in the case of those who are new, inform you. The Forbidden Forest is named thus for a reason and this rule will, this year, be enforced more than in the past. I can not stress enough how important it is for you to stay clear of it, this year especially."

Murmurs flew through the hall about why this could be, but Draco paid no attention. It wasn't as if the Forbidden Forest had ever really interested him, anyway.

"Secondly, you may remember that several years ago the Third Floor Corridor was marked as an out of bounds area. I am afraid this is to, once again, be labelled as such, and any student caught there shall be harshly punished."

That one attracted Draco's attention, wondering what exactly Dumbledore wanted no student to see.

"Lastly," Dumbledore finished, his tone becoming even more dire and serious, "you all know of the return of one of the world's most feared wizards. Voldemort" – many winced – "has returned and, as such, we must take precautions. We won't tolerate people out after hours this year, for such things could prove disastrous. That said, we cannot let fear drive our lives, for if we let fear guide us and shy away from living, then what is the point in fighting? We must stay strong this year and prove that we are not afraid, that we are willing to stand up for what is right and continue to live."

Draco was flabbergasted that Dumbledore had managed to turn his welcoming speech into a rally to boost army numbers. Although, really, what had he expected? He heard the cheers echoing from around the hall at the speech and he would've probably cheered too, were it not for his name. After all, he did agree with what Dumbledore was saying. He mentally slapped himself for such thoughts and tried to tell himself, once again, that he was a Death Eater, a supporter of Voldemort. Once again, it didn't work.

-:-O-:-

_The images flashed before his eyes in rapid succession, blurring together into one large portrait of horror and pain. There were the pallid masks, sneering taunts, symbols of fear and malice. A muggle man screaming in agony as he was hit with five separate _Crucio_'s. The pain and terror on a muggle woman's face as she was unceremoniously raped before his eyes, himself punished with _Crucio_'s if he showed anything other than nonchalance._

_It was not just his eyes that were bombarded with images, but his other senses that were overwhelmed. The scent of searing flesh filled his nostrils, a pungent wave of burning that made his stomach want to empty. The taste of his own blood filled his mouth as he bit his tongue harder and harder to stifle the yells that would only elicit further punishment. The screams: endless wails that chilled you to the bone. Men, women and children alike filled his ears with their horrifying cries of agony._

_Then it all stopped and he was in a dark room. It was damp in here, the walls reminding him of cardboard that had been wet right through and was dripping. The place smelled of must and grime, with a faint remnant of the torture that had taken place here at some time in the past. Shadows filled the room, dancing around with others so that nothing was ever in light. At the wall he was facing there was a large chair, veiled in shadow, and, sitting on the chair, was a cloaked figure with glaring slits for eyes. That was all he could see, those piercing, malevolent eyes that just screamed evil._

"_Yes, I like you," a gasping, hissing voice said. Every word seemed laboured to pronounce, yet managed to be filled with hate and spite. Venom was ever present, and it made him shake with fear and disgust. "You'll make a good one when you're ready. It'll be nice to have you…" A long, pale, white finger that seemed to be made of nothing but craggy bones and wrinkled skin traced along the underside of his arm as he uttered the last sentence. "You'll be one of mine. Forever…"_

Draco was gasping, panting for breath as he sat upright in his bed. He had awoken from his dreams, from his memories, with a start and was now sitting, petrified. He was literally paralysed, movement wasn't possible and neither was thought. His eyes were glazed and merely stared blankly at the curtains of his bed that swayed ever so gently in the breeze. No screams were emitted from his mouth; no whimpers escaping his sealed lips. All that he could do was sit, stare and sweat – and that was all he did for the rest of the night.

-:-O-:-

It was breakfast and Draco's eyelids were pleading with him. Well, when you are awake for most of the night that tends to happen. He was drearily spooning eggs into his mouth and chewing, swallowing intermittently, trying to ignore the glum mood that he could not shake. It had been present ever since he had awoken from that dream the night before. This sense of dread. This sense of doom.

"Drakey, dear, why aren't you eating anything?" Pansy crooned in her sickly-sweet voice. "Is something the matter?" She stroked the side of his face with the back of her hand as she spoke, her face showing mountain loads of concern. Her large, pleading eyes and her pouting lips begged to know what ailed her love.

"It's nothing, Pansy," Draco replied, shaking off her hand and hunching closer to his food, shovelling another forkful into his mouth. "Nothing at all."

"Sure it is, Drakey. C'mon, you can tell me, I'm your Pansy." Draco closed his eyes for a second, willing himself to be patient. It was a dear shame that he just wasn't in the mood.

"Listen, Pansy," he hissed, looking venomous and ready to kill. "I do _not _want to talk about this, all right? Now I'm going to Potions and I hope you refrain from mentioning this in the future." With that he stood and left the Great Hall, for once not flanked by a hoard of Slytherins.

Draco's steps were quick as he trod angrily away from the Great Hall. Perhaps angry was too harsh a word. He was more… frustrated. Frustrated and sick of the fucked up situation that was taking place all around him. The fucked up situation that was his life.

"_Calm down, Draco,"_ he thought to himself, _"come on, get a grip! It'll be all right. Everything will work out OK."_

Even as the thoughts ran through his head he knew that he was lying to himself. Things wouldn't just work out and fix themselves over night. There was very little chance that they would work out at all. His future prospects looked bleak at this point. His career options looked like being either a murderer and torturer or a prisoner in Azkaban. Or dead. None of those appealed to him.

"_Could my life be any worse?"_

"Oi, Ferret Boy! What're you storming through the corridors for? Did someone touch your precious hair?" Yes, as Ronald Weasley's voice echoed down the corridor, Draco indeed knew that that wonderful Muggle invention of "Murphy's Law" was certainly not something to take lightly.

-:-O-:-

It was the first day of school and already the sixth years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were drowning in a flood of homework. This was especially in the case of the Gryffindor and Slytherin sixth years, both having had Double Transfiguration and Double Potions in the same day. It was a known fact that Professor McGonagall gave homework out quite liberally and as for Professor Snape, well, he gave it out far more than liberally.

Seamus Finnigan and Ronald Weasley were, by no means, terribly worried about their academic position. While others were hunched over a desk working, they were lounging in the common room engaged in an animated game of Wizard's chess. Ron had already beaten Seamus twice and Seamus had vowed that he would have his revenge. So far his revenge was looking very poor indeed.

"Bishop to D3. Check," came Ronald's clear voice, perfectly calm.

"Oh bloody hell!" came Seamus's frazzled reply. "Fine. Queen to E2."

"Perfect!" Ron exclaimed, the first emotion he had displayed throughout the game. "Rook to G5. Checkmate!"

"Fuck! You bloody bastard! I swear I should've had you that time!" Seamus was beyond annoyed now, somewhere in the field of downright pissed off. There was just no defeating The Ronald.

"Oh, of course you should've. The fact was that you _didn't_." This was the time where Ron let all his emotions go and gloated beyond reason. What was the point in winning if you couldn't boast, after all?

Across the common room Hermione sat deep in contemplation. She had homework still left to do but, in a unique turn of events, something else had drawn her attention. It was not the fact that the Third Floor Corridor was once again a restricted area. It was not the fact that the Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher had failed to arrive and Dumbledore himself had been forced to take the First Years. It was not the mood Harry had been in since he had arrived at The Burrow, a mood that had so far perpetuated into the school year. No, what troubled her was something far more elusive. It was so close, yet so far. She couldn't quite put her finger on it…

The thought was on the tip of her tongue and within her grasp when a certain Irish Gryffindor obliterated her concentration, saying: "Your boyfriend is an insufferable git, do you know that?"

"What?!" She almost fell off the couch she was sitting in.

"Ron," he said, completely naturally. "Beats me in chess _four_ times and then proceeds to _gloat_ about it for an _hour_! If that's not insufferable, I don't know what is." Hermione continued to stare at him as if he'd grown a second head, declared his allegiance to Voldemort and his undying love for Snape!

"He is _not _my boyfriend, Finnigan."

"What?" Now it was Seamus's turn to stare blatantly at Hermione as if she had grown a second head, declared her passionate hatred of herself and all other "Mudbloods" and then declared her undying love for Draco Malfoy. "You can't be serious! Surely he's asked you out already. Is he _that_ dense that he doesn't realise you like him?"

"I don't like him," Hermione stated, a little too quickly.

"Sure, and Harry's really You-Know-Who's love-child,"

"Is it that obvious?" she asked, a little tentatively.

"You can't make it more obvious if you jumped up and down yelling and screaming 'I love Ronald Weasley'," Seamus stated firmly. With that he stood and left the Common Room. Hermione's concentration was well and truly gone, a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment welling up inside her. The only thing that could possibly calm her down was a good round of homework. That was exactly what she did.

-:-O-:-

A cloaked figure moved through the Forbidden Forest, his long black cloak billowing behind him. The wind was strong that night and the rustles of the leaves around him was the only sound that could be heard, that and the faint howling of the wind. That drowned out all other sounds, even the crunching of the dead leaves under his feet. His feet moved with a definitive purpose, his hands clutching his dark cloak tightly around him. The wind drowned out noise, but it sure made for a bitter cold.

"There you are," a voice drawled in front of him. It stopped him in his tracks. He looked up from the ground and lifted the hood off of his face.

"Good evening," he stated in response. He schooled his features well, playing the role he was meant to. His face revealed nothing of his thoughts; his mind blocked to all intrusions. "Everything is still going ahead as planned?"

"Yes."

That was the end of their brief conversation. Nothing else was needed. They both knew what they had to do. The cloaked figure raised his hood once again and turned back the way he came. The wind began to ebb; yet it was still enough to penetrate his clothing and chill him. At least he had the cloak; it would've been ten times worse without it. Faint crunching noises could be heard under his feet as he wondered back; innocent leaves destroyed under the shoe of one who cared nothing for their lives.

-:-O-:-

Harry sat at the breakfast table, listlessly spooning porridge into his mouth. He wasn't deep in thought, nor drifting far away, yet he did not participate in any of the conversation surrounding him. Isolation had established a home in Harry and refused to let go. The walls of Hogwarts once again surrounded him, he was once again in his first real home, but he still felt miserable. All around him life had gone on. While he had suffered at Privet Drive under the taunts of Vernon Dursley, everyone else continued to live their lives, completely oblivious. He was famous, their hero, their saviour. It seemed ridiculous to think that they knew what brand of toothpaste he used to clean his teeth, but not that he had been abused over and over again all summer.

"_They don't know who you really are,"_ he thought to himself. _"All they see is an image, an idol. Do they know the real you?"_

He was well acquainted with the blatant staring and the disapproving looks that had always unsettled him. The people who thought they knew him when they didn't. Those that looked no farther than the hero façade.

Ron must have said something he shouldn't have and was sent crashing into Harry, causing a bowl of cereal to be disturbed in the process and its contents strewn across the table. It was, it seemed, one Seamus Finnigan who had decided to violently shove the redhead at the breakfast table for reasons Harry hadn't been listening to. He did manage to make out something along the lines of: "Stop your bloody gloating!" uttered by the Irishman. After quick apologies by his friend, Harry went back to eating with a smile on his face.

"_They don't _all_ look at you that way. You have Ron and Hermione and Seamus and Dean and Neville and Luna and so many others! You are lucky. No, I am lucky. I am lucky to have such good friends."_

Harry was content for the rest of breakfast and he remained content even as he headed towards Defence Against the Dark Arts and happened to bump into the most antagonistic person he had ever met.

"Watch it Potter!" Draco Malfoy said as Harry Potter bumped into him. "Watch where you're going next time, won't you?!" That, not surprisingly, shattered Harry's composed mood.

"Oh, sod off, would you Malfoy?" His voice was different from its usual when he met with his nemesis, less attacking and more aggravated. He was not in the mood for a conflict – he had been quite happy up until that point.

"Appear without your cronies today, did you? Finally realise you have no friends?" Ronald Weasley said from behind him. At least someone was in the mood to piss Malfoy off, as Harry sure as hell wasn't.

There was a lengthened pause in which no one spoke that seemed to last for eternity. Ron stood there, triumphant look on his face, knowing he had struck some kind of nerve. What exactly that nerve was, he did not know, but he had struck it nonetheless. Draco stood with a murderous gaze in his eyes, but something else lay not too far underneath. It was strange and no one could possibly know it was there, let alone what it was, but it was there nonetheless.

"Shut the fuck up, plebeian," Draco finally said, before stalking into the classroom.

Ron looked to Hermione, Hermione looked to Harry and Harry looked after Malfoy with a thoughtful look on his face. It was an anticlimax indeed, and Ron especially was disappointed at the lack of reaction.

-:-O-:-

"_What the hell was _that_!"_ Draco thought to himself as he sat in Defence Against the Dark Arts, listening to the old man, Dumbledore, explain his presence. Had it been any other day, Draco would've probably been mentally yawning and thinking rude insults on Dumbledore's existence. It wasn't. Instead he sat, far away, pondering the strange events of a few moments earlier.

He didn't hate Weasley.

He didn't hate Potter.

Draco Malfoy didn't hate Ronald Weasley or Harry Potter.

The world was coming to an end.

Sure, he had known that he didn't hate the people he used to, like Justin Finch-Fletchley and Ernie Macmillan and Susan Bones, but not to hate Potter and Weasley, well, that was just too ludicrous for words. Had that, too, merely been a cloak of his father's that he had worn and, now, had shed? Draco wasn't sure. He had thought that, at least, his hate for those two and their pathetic Mudblood friend had been real, something that he himself had felt. It appeared not.

Hatred, too, had been a component of that self who had been moulded by his father and was now dead. Hatred, it seemed, was now part of his façade – the façade that he needed to stay alive.

-:-O-:-

Days began to blend together as the monotony of school life resumed once again. The beginning of the school year was turning out to be rather uneventful. That was until almost three weeks into their education.

It was not a regular occurrence for a teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to turn up late to a school year. The fact Dumbledore was the temporary Defence Against the Dark Arts professor was definitely something that had had the castle gossiping for the first week of school. Like all gossip, though, it had faded into the background, this time fairly quickly, and Dumbledore's teaching seemed to be accepted as normal.

That was, until it ended.

Two and a half weeks passed with Dumbledore as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor and the students in the sixth year advanced class assumed that Dumbledore would be taking them for that lesson. The Gryffindor students sat in a circle, some on desks with their backs to the board, others reclined with only half the legs of their chairs on the ground. The Slytherins clustered up the back, murmuring and grunting, looking annoyed and discontent with the present situation. They were all relaxed, though, having been lulled into a relaxed classroom atmosphere by Dumbledore's lax disciplinary standards in the classroom.

About the time Dumbledore was due to enter the classroom, all of the students jumped by a horrendous noise – all the windows in the classroom suddenly slamming shut. Complete silence descended upon the room and the young occupants looked around in fear. Another loud noise resounded around the classroom as the door to the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher's office slammed against the wall as it was thrust open. In the door stood, what they could only presume, was their new professor.

Ancient. That was the best way to sum up what this man looked like. He looked older than Dumbledore even, and a hell of a lot fiercer. He was a rather tall man with wizened grey hair likened to that of the mad scientist stereotype. His eagle grey eyes swept the room, piercing the soul of every student, seeming to read the minds of every one of the class's occupants. Harry was reminded of Mad-Eye Moody with the way his eyes seemed to see everything.

"Well, what are you all staring at, get to your seats!" His voice was croaky, yet menacing. Harry thought his teeth looked like they were well accustomed to ripping raw meat off the bone.

"I am your new Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher," he announced. "I trust you all intend to pass with flying colours, and, as such, are willing to work hard." Groans resounded through the room, partly because Dumbledore's teaching method had required strangely little work. "Dumbledore has already wasted the first few weeks, so it's time to catch up. Everyone turn to page a hundred and ninety-five..."

-:-O-:-

Things were being pulled out of his trunk at random, clothes being flung onto his bed, books falling to the floor. Rummaging, that's what he was doing; trying to find a certain Charms textbook that he knew was in here somewhere…

Harry's hand grasped something that he didn't recognise and his brow instantly furrowed. He drew out his hand slowly, eyeing the foreign object with interest. It was a necklace of some kind; a thin gold chain held a small gold pendant. Tracing around the tiny round disc about the size of a one-pound coin with his finger he noticed an intricate pattern carved into the gold that seemed to form some sort of symbol. A small gem (Harry was buggered if he knew _which_ gem) sat in the very centre of both the disc and the pattern carved on it. The accessory shone under a stray beam of sun and Harry smiled.

It looked like an elegant piece of jewellery, something a snotty Pureblood like Malfoy would wear. The thing looked expensive, not to mention the fact that it was made of solid gold, and it was probably the most expensive thing that had ever sat inside Harry's school trunk. He did not know from whence it came, but that didn't seem to matter. The amulet was so beautiful that Harry couldn't just give it up, willingly give it to another. What compelled Harry to place the piece of jewellery around his neck was a mystery even to him, but it couldn't be denied that it felt right. The cool metal pressed against his skin made him shiver slightly, but he ignored it and went back to searching for his Charms textbook, the mysterious object hidden under Harry's loose shirt.

-:-O-:-

**Author's Note:** OK, writer's block. Sorry! That, and a busy schedule. Not to mention the trouble I've had uploading this. Hopefully I can update faster in the future. (Hopefully!)

Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!


	3. Choosing Sides

**Author's Note:** As some of you know, I lost my first copy. I now have several back-ups, just in case. That should never happen again.

-:-O-:-

**[Harry Potter and the Cursed Amulet]**

III

_Choosing Sides_

"The hottest places in hell are reserved for those who, in times of great moral crisis, maintain their neutrality."  
Dante Alighieri

"Surely, you can't possibly be thinking of letting them go. Have you listened to a word I've said?" The worried, berating tones of Severus Snape could be heard coming from the office of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. Dumbledore was lucky he had a sound-proof office. The business they were discussing was not for everyone's ears.

"I most certainly am," Albus said, in his usual calm tone. "Please, sit back down, Severus. Surely you see that we can't let fear drive us?"

"But to walk into a trap is bloody suicide!" Snape was leaning on the Headmaster's desk now, trying with all his might to make him see reason.

"Only if we aren't prepared, Severus. You have, luckily, provided us with this vital information. We shall be able to protect ourselves."

It was inconceivable. Snape was positive that the Headmaster must have lost his mind. Nothing else could explain the utter lunacy he was spewing. He was actually going to let his students walk into an ambush.

-:-O-:-

Time at Hogwarts was going past quickly. The already gruelling lessons were growing in intensity and the already astronomical piles of homework were getting larger. Harry couldn't believe that he was already in his sixth year at Hogwarts. Less than two years and he'd be out in the world, having to find a job, earning his own money and living by himself. That was, of course, if he survived those two years. At the moment, the likelihood of that wasn't very high.

He sighed once again as he spun his cereal around the bowl with his spoon.

Dean was sitting beside him in a rather un-talkative mood, which was just as well, because Harry didn't feel much like talking. Ron and Hermione were nowhere to be seen, which was unusual, considering the fact that Hermione was usually the one pestering him to get ready for breakfast faster. Seamus was the only one around who actually wanted conversation. He had been annoying at first, until he'd given up trying to hold a conversation with Harry and moved on to Neville. They were now discussing some topic that Harry probably didn't care about.

Breakfast was abruptly disturbed by the words of Albus Dumbledore.

"Students! How does it feel to be halfway through the first semester? I hope you have all been enjoying yourselves. I am pleased to inform those old enough that the first Hogsmeade weekend will be this Sunday. I trust you'll all enjoy. For those of you who aren't old enough, I've organised a special event for you all, so don't feel left out." With that, he sat back down, allowing the students to file off to class.

"_Hogsmeade? Surely that'll be dangerous, what with Voldemort back and all..." _The plan sure seemed ludicrous and just a little crazy, but it was a very Dumbledore thing to do and Harry, after a while, could see the logic in it. Show Voldemort they weren't scared and reduce his power over them.

Still, Hermione was shocked when he told her. Ron was livid.

"Fucking unbelievable! Is he _trying_ to get us all killed?!" Ron was fuming, storming back and forth in the common room, looking like he wanted to wring the Headmaster's neck for being so idiotic.

"He's showing a strong front," Harry said. "Prove we aren't scared."

"Show a strong front, my arse! Does he even realise what he's gotten the _third years_ into? It's a death trap, a bloody death trap. He's supposed to protect us, not serve us up on a silver platter."

"I see his point, though," Hermione muttered, logic taking back over as shock subsided. She really was an exceptionally bright witch, Harry knew. "Voldemort's biggest weapon is fear, Ron. By locking ourselves up we let him win. If we stop enjoying life, he wins. We need to live our lives, Ron, or we may as well just die and let him have the world."

Ron was, obviously, stunned. He just stood there, gaping like a fish. Harry didn't show his reaction quite as obviously, but it was just as profound. He knew there was a double meaning there, whether Hermione intended it or not. Those were almost the exact words she would tell him, probably wanted to tell him. He knew they were true, deep down. He just couldn't follow their advice.

-:-O-:-

The trip to Hogsmeade came around faster than Ron expected. Even up until the time when he left the castle door, money in his pockets, ready to buy as many sweets at Honeydukes as he could carry, he expected Dumbledore to call the whole trip off. He could certainly see the reasons for letting the students go, but he fervently believed that the cons clearly outweighed the pros. He didn't see how any sane person could agree to letting over a hundred young children loose into a village when a delusional maniac was out looking for blood. Namely, the blood of one of the people in the group of children. It was inconceivable.

He had to admit, though, that he wasn't adverse to getting a chance to see Hogsmeade again and visit the shops there. It was at least good for morale.

The young third years were racing past him, hurrying towards the wizarding community for the first time. They were so young and full of life, and seeing the joy on their faces made Ron smile. They made his favourite female smile too, and he watched Hermione laugh as a hurrying third year almost bowled her over. That was another benefit of such a day, seeing Hermione smile and laugh like that. It was... magic.

How much he wished he could reach out and wrap his arms around her. How much he wished that he could walk with her, hand in hand, down to Hogsmeade. How much he wished he could take those soft lips with his and kiss her deeply and passionately. However, he couldn't. He didn't have the guts to do that; he was too scared of what she might say, what rejection might do to their relationship. Life with friend-Hermione was better than life with enemy-Hermione, he reasoned. Still, it was torture watching her so happy and beautiful. She may have stopped straightening her hair and it may have been slowly returning to its frizzy state, but the spell had already been weaved and he was already its victim. Not that hadn't always always been there, though.

"Come on, Harry!" he heard that angel's voice call. As she turned, he turned with her to spot the third member of their party sulking along behind them. Harry. He was an enigma these days, a mysterious puzzle that was impossible to solve. Perpetually depressed, his best friend was never fun to be around any more. Something had changed during the summer, and it was quite obvious, he just couldn't for the life of him figure out what it was. It was disconcerting, to say the least, and more than a little troubling.

"Coming," came the exasperated reply. Hermione gave him a look and Ron agreed. Wordlessly, they shared their concerns through their eyes. They had to do something. Somehow, they both understood each other. Today could provide the perfect opportunity.

As Harry eventually caught up, the three of them set off, once again, towards the village of Hogsmeade. It was a quiet journey, Harry refusing to talk and his friends feeling too worried to try talking to him. Ron missed the days when they would hurry down to the village, talking animatedly about what they would buy and the day they would have. Those were the days, when they acted more like the excited children around them rather than the depressed band they currently formed. His heart filled with nostalgia reflecting on the days of yore. He missed those days.

Eventually they arrived at their destination: Hogsmeade. Ron surveyed the scene in front of him and the nostalgia crept into his heart once again. Hogsmeade, despite the war surrounding them, was as beautiful as ever. He had always loved this place; had always been fascinated by the village. It was so pretty, so picturesque, and he wondered what he would do if it was destroyed. In this time of war and conflict, Ron was always worried that things would be destroyed. Hogsmeade, Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, The Burrow, his friends. Nothing was safe from destruction; nothing was safe from death.

Still, one could find happiness in odd places and, as the trio entered Honeydukes, Ron smiled. The walls were lined with sweets of all shapes and sizes. BertieBott's Every Flavour Beans, Chocolate Frogs, Sugar Quills; this shop had them all. It was so exciting and such a treat – not having had sweets since the train ride to Hogwarts.

Hermione smiled at him and they both set to work.

That smile was such an additional incentive.

God! he was so infatuated.

"Oh my, Harry, look! They have Fizzing Whizzbees! I haven't had any of these since that time we ate too many and were stuck up near the ceiling for hours! Do you remember that?"

"Harry! They have _Cudley Cannons_ chocolate, can you believe it? Think I should get some?"

It went on for ages, Hermione and Ron's attempt to cheer up their friend. It began in Honeydukes and ended up in Zonko's. All the while the two friends tried in vain to cheer Harry up. They were beginning to abandon hope. Their morose friend reacted to nothing. As they entered The Three Broomsticks, Ron and Hermione were about to give up hope of ever lifting their friend out of his perpetual mood of depression. That was, until they saw a man who might just be able to help them.

Ron and Hermione had gone to buy drinks for the three of them, Harry choosing to slump at the table, when they saw him. Remus Lupin – a man who might just be able to help them. It was a long shot, but then, everything to do with Harry was a long shot these days.

"Professor!" exclaimed Ron and Hermione together.

"Hello!" came the reply. "Must I inform you yet again that, as I am no longer your professor, it is illogical to call me such. Remus will do fine."

"We were wondering, sir, if you could help Harry," Hermione asked politely, not being able to slip out of formalityaltogether. Not matter how many times he told her, she never could break propriety.

"Whatever seems to be the problem?" he asked in reply, immediately growing serious, yet with a soft tone in his voice.

"He's... well... depressed," she said hesitantly.

"Very," Ron added.

"Let's see what I can do." Ron thought he sounded like he understood, like he possessed some higher knowledge both he and Hermione lacked. "May I ask where he is?"

"He's over..." But, as Hermione turned and went to point towards the table Harry had been sitting at, she realised he was nowhere to be seen. Little did she know he had fled from the tavern.

-:-O-:-

"Father?!" Draco exclaimed as he spun around on the spot. He had felt the firm grasp on his shoulder and had known instantly from whom it had come. It was ingrained into his brain now. That touch; that presence. He had to restrain the shudder that wanted to take over his body; he had to withhold the grimace that wanted itself shown.

It wasn't unusual for Lucius to visit his son at random occasions: trips to Hogsmeade, Quidditch games, strolls through Hogwarts ground when no event was taking place, even. It was just that it hadn't happened so far this year; it hadn't happened since he'd grown and matured beyond a young, naïve child. On top of that, Lucius had promised – now Draco was older and Voldemort recognised by the ministry – to include Draco in inner circle discussions and keep him up-to-date with big events. Draco was, after all, the youngest Voldemort had even recruited, even if he was not yet an official member. Voldemort thought highly of him, merely because he was Lucius's son and a Malfoy.

"Draco," his father said blandly, "how nice it is to see you."

"It is nice to see you also, father." Draco tried his hardest to keep the bitterness out of his voice, though he was sure he had failed. He waited for the harsh, stinging pain to break out on the side of his face, but it never came. It appeared that his father's inflated ego eliminated Draco's need to worry. Or at least, it meant that, if he tried his hardest, he was believable.

"Draco, today is going to be a very special day," Lucius continued, a wry smile forming on his face. It made Draco want to cringe, Lucius in such a cheerful mood could not be good. Draco instantly feared the worst. "And, what's more, you have been chosen to partake. You should feel privileged."

Draco froze. It seemed that the worst was indeed what it was. Of course, Draco knew it was coming. How could he not? Voldemort wanted him marked; was going to have him marked as soon as he could. This was merely the test he had been expecting ever since he had seen Voldemort this summer. The problem was, he hadn't expected it so soon. He had expected, had hoped beyond belief, that he would have more freedom before he was forever enslaved to the malevolent creature. He was meant to have two more years at least before he was forced into the eternal life of servitude. Never did he doubt that he would join that malicious enterprise that was the Death Eaters, he had just wished for longer before it would occur.

"You don't seem too pleased, Draco," Lucius warned, rather sternly.

"No father, just shocked. I am honoured; I did not expect this so soon." It was the truth, if one ignored the fact that he wasn't honoured. Draco thought for a moment that Lucius wasn't going to buy it – the man's scrutinising gaze fixed on him and he judged the statement given, scanning it for defects – but, eventually, he nodded his head in acceptance.

"That is understandable, Draco," was all he said.

-:-O-:-

Hogsmeade was just how he remembered it. Yet another place that had kept living while he was kept confined in the hell-hole that was his aunt and uncle's house. Sure, there were one or two shops that had closed down and everywhere there was a general feeling of fear and distrust, but these people were still living. They, themselves, were not tortured day and night by memories of what had happened to him. They were sad, they were depressed, but they weren't in agony. Terrible, constant agony.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and continued moving along as a bunch of lively third graders ran past him. They were so happy, so full of life, looking forward to a bright future once Harry "Omnipotent Teenager" Potter had killed the pesky snake-man. Harry shuffled into Madam Puddifoot's with his head bowed and his posture slumped. These children had expectations in him that were beyond realistic, and he couldn't help think, every now and again, that perhaps he might disappoint them. Perhaps, he might fail. It had never really crossed his mind in the past, but then, there hadn't been an ultimatum in the past. Now there was, and that meant one of two things: he won, or he died. He didn't think he was strong enough to do the former.

"Would you like something, dear?" a friendly-looking waitress asked him.

"Sure," he said listlessly, "could you bring me a Butterbeer?"

"Anything you like, deary," she stated with a smile, and headed off into the kitchen to retrieve his order.

He was finally alone, away from his overzealous friends. At last, he could have some quiet peace.

As he waited he stared outside the window of the café, falling back into contemplation. He seemed to be doing an uncommon amount of that recently: thinking. Not that there was anything better to do. Everything that had once brought him joy seemed, now, to only bring him despair. His friends had once been dear to him, his most treasured possession, but now they were merely concerned shadows that flittered in front of him. He had once enjoyed Quidditch, relishing the feeling of soaring through the air after that tiny golden ball, but now it was a hollow, pointless exercise. There was no pleasure in anything any more. Food had even lost its taste. There was little hope left for him.

Then there were his dreams. Vernon, Cedric, Sirius and Voldemort still featured prominently in his dreams, but there was something else now, something he couldn't put his finger on. It was worse, though; much worse than his abusive uncle or his disappointed godfather or the evil demon himself. No, this was worse than even him. This was deep-rooted evil. Something he dreaded seeing every night.

"There you go deary, hope you enjoy." The waitress had come back with his Butterbeer. He took a sip and, as he suspected, it tasted bland to him. It wasn't the Butterbeer, he knew that. It was the taste of despair.

-:-O-:-

"So, boy, you understand? Injure, torture or _kill_ anyone you like, but don't go near Potter." The wheezing, crazed words of his aunt were received by muffled ears. Draco was in shock; still unable to comprehend that he was entering into battle so soon. He was sure this was it, that today he would either die or get caught and thrown in Azkaban. Neither option held much appeal, but at least death would be over faster.

"And don't get caught," came the sneering voice of Antonin Dolohov. Draco thought he was in Azkaban. But then, that counted for little these days. Anyone Voldemort wanted, he broke out almost as fast as they were put in.

"_They wouldn't bother breaking you out, though."_

"Why can't we attack Potter?" Draco asked stoically. He was still in shock, and those were the only words he could manage.

"Insolent one, isn't he Lucius," Bellatrix sneered, though she answered his question anyway. "The Dark Lord has bigger plans for him, Draco. Much bigger plans for him..."

"Come on boy," Lucius said blandly. "Put this on." Draco watched as he thrust out one of the things Draco truly feared – a long black mask with a pallid white skull face. It sat there for several moments, though to Draco it seemed much longer. It was as if time had stopped as Draco just stared at the mask in his father's hands. There it was, the label, the symbol that would mark him a Death Eater forever. The only thing more permanent than the mask was the mark, and Draco knew that once he got the mask that was soon to follow. It was surreal, he could not possibly be a Death Eater already. But he was, he knew he was, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

Soon, he grabbed the mask and pulled it over his face. It felt disgusting, like some alien body that attached itself to him and sucked all that was good from him. It was a thing of evil, a thing that drove fear into the hearts of many, and yet he wore it freely. He felt disgusted with himself, he felt like turning on the spot and vomiting all over Antonin Dolohov's shoes. He couldn't, though. That just wasn't an option.

"My, my, Lucius. Doesn't my nephew just look so grown up!" Draco heard Bellatrix screech.

"Yes, he's truly my son," Lucius replied back, still as cold and bland as ever. Strange, Draco had always wanted to please his father, always wanted his father to say those exact words. Now, though, that he could finally get his father to be proud of him, he wanted nothing less than that pride.

"_I'm your son only in blood..."_

It was a shame that, in the wizarding world (or at least that which Draco had experienced), blood was considered quite an important thing.

-:-O-:-

The scream pierced the air and resounded throughout all of Hogsmeade. It was high, a shrill shriek of terror. It lasted for only a few seconds before it was eerily silenced. How it was silenced couldn't be determined, but by the abruptness of it, it didn't sound good. from where Harry sat, he could hear it and it chilled him to the bone. No one screamed like that, not unless they were petrified beyond a state of normality. That could mean only one thing. The eventuality he feared had arrived. He could feel his stomach sink.

He was up and out the door before anyone else in the Madam Puddifoot's, letting his eyes search to and fro for the source of the unearthly sound. There was no repeat, and all the occupants and visitors of Hogsmeade had stopped in their tracks at the sound. The village was silent, eerily silent, and Harry couldn't stand it. He felt like he was a sitting duck. He was lost and confused, a mighty predator ready to swoop down and gobble him up. It wasn't a case of if, it was a case of when. The question was whether or not he survived.

A few waves of murmurs swept through the crowd, and Harry though he heard soft, low chanting. Squinting his eyes he could see them, advancing on the outskirts of the village, their long pallid masks full of distaste and malice. Spinning quickly, he decided that they must have had the village surrounded. That was not good. They were trapped.

Then I came, the first curse, muttered by one of the masked figures. He couldn't see who it was aimed at, but he could imagine the outcome easily enough. He had seen it enough times in the past.

"_Crucio_!"

That was the end of it, the eerie silence was over and the cacophony began. It was a madhouse. There were third and fourth years everywhere, petrified children, running scared wherever they could find a hiding spot, wailing as they went. Harry drew his wand and prepared to do what he could. Out of all of these students, he was probably one of the most capable and most experienced duellers. He wasn't going to run scared and hide for this duel. This time he would fight, and he would fight well. It was probably his fault they were here anyway.

"_Expelliarmus_!" he yelled, aiming his wand at the nearest Death Eater he saw. It was deflected easily enough, but that was to be expected, really. He tried again, much to the same effect. He heard the Death Eater mumble some words and deflected the hex that was sent his way right back at the Death Eater. They hadn't been expecting that, and were knocked off their feet, flying back against a tree. A hint of a smile crossed Harry's face.

There was a scream from someone near him and Harry turned to see a Death Eater advancing down on a cowering woman, wand drawn, ready for torture. Harry's eyes were set ablaze by emotion and his _Stupefy_ not only stunned the man, but sent him flying off the woman as well. She went to thank him, or at least he assumed that's what she was doing. He was off again to find his next opponent before he gave her the chance.

Time passed in a blur, confusion was all around him and he couldn't tell one person from another any more. He did know that he took down another three Death Eaters in the matter of a few moments. He had been hit twice by spells that didn't seem to impede him, and that just gave him more incentive to have them fleeing back from wherever they came. Right now, the objective wasn't about capturing. The objective was about protecting.

He could feel it when Voldemort arrived. His scar went berserk and he doubled over in pain for a few moments. There was a warming in his chest and the pain soon subsided. Harry paid little notice; instead, looking around to see where Voldemort had apparated in with a swirl of black mist. It was almost comedic how theatrical Voldemort was at that moment, but Harry wasn't laughing. There was no time for thoughts apart from battle.

He was moving in the direction of Voldemort, when he felt a disturbance to his right and set up a shield charm just in time to block an incoming curse. There was a Death Eater advancing on him, wand pointed directly at him, ready to send another curse flying. His _Protego_ couldn't shield him from the second charm flying at his back as well, and the hex from the second Death Eater left a long gash on his left arm. There was no pain though and he barely registered that he'd been hit. Instead, he just sneered at the second Death Eater that had chosen to challenge him.

"_Levicorpus_," came Harry's spell as he levitated one, dodging to the side to avoid getting hit by another curse. It was uncanny – he knew what was coming and when. Everything he did was almost automatic. Every move he made just felt right and he went with it. He was a puppet to his instincts, letting his reflexes take over.

His body bind hit the second and he sneered again. He was enjoying this: the raw power, the energy. It was intoxicating. His eyes flashed a strange tint of yellow as he flung the levitated Death Eater up against a nearby wall. Quite hard, too.

Harry needed to do that again. He needed to find someone else and he turned to scan the village turned battlefield. He sent a jinx across towards a Death Eater he thought was Bellatrix LeStrange and smiled as he watched her keel over, suddenly feeling like she'd been kicked in the stomach. His eyes went to scan again when he realised something that snapped him out of his strange, sadistic mood.

Some time between when Voldemort had arrived and now, Dumbledore had arrived with other members of the Order of the Phoenix. The old headmaster was currently locked in duel with a blonde-haired Death Eater that seemed reminiscent of Lucius Malfoy. He was concentrating so hard he was completely unaware of what Voldemort was about to do. Harry could see the worlds on his lips, the hate that he needed in his eyes. In a moment a streak of green light would shoot from his wand that would end Dumbledore's life forever.

He felt no more need for revenge, no more need to cause pain. All he felt now was an inherent need to save his headmaster and mentor from death. And he did it the only way he knew how.

Harry Potter jumped in between Voldemort and Albus Dumbledore, yelling a quick _Protego_ before the killing curse was sent.

Harry could see the shock in Voldemort's eyes as the green light sent him flying into a brick wall much harder than he'd sent the Death Eater.

-:-O-:-

Everything around her was clearing. It was strange to watch from up the top of her raised position. She had been duelling, doing what she could to help even if no one seemed to want her to, when they had finally managed to chase the Death Easters off. She could see them still, around the edges of the town, disapparating. There was nothing more she could do, though; the last of the Death Eaters were either being arrested or pursued.

All that was left was the clean up.

As Hermione's thought moved out of "battle mode", thoughts of her friends filled her head and she was immediately off and racing.

"Harry! Ron! Harry! Ron!" she yelled, the mantra continuing over and over again, hoping beyond hope that nothing had happened to either of them. Her logical mind told her Harry was at least alive because, if he wasn't, the whole of the battlefield would know in seconds, she was sure – though logic had little opportunity to take hold in her brain. Ron was another matter, and she worried about him more than her dark-haired friend. Though, there may have been some bias in that worry too. Somehow, thoughts of Ronald Bilius Weasley seemed to consume most of her day.

"Hermione!" came the voice Hermione was just dying to hear.

"Ron!" she exclaimed in return, turning around just in time to have two arms draw her into a rather large chest. He was OK; in fact he looked like he had barely a scratch on him. That was a wonderful relief, and she hugged him back as tightly as she could manage, just glad that he was alive.

"Have you ummm... seen Harry?" Ron asked, eventually separating himself from the raven-haired girl, a slight blush rising in his cheeks.

"No," was the only answer she could give him, turning away and once again resuming searching for a friend. "God, I hope he's all right."

"Yeah, me too."

It didn't take them long to find their friend. At first, they feared the worst. Hermione gasped, running to the side of the magically-produced stretcher hovering above the ground, tears beginning to run down her face fast and thick. Ron just froze, noticeably blanched and made just one sound.

"Fuck."

Harry lay there, unconscious, and if Madame Pomfrey wasn't currently telling Hermione that her friend was merely that, Ron would've sworn he was dead. He looked it, that was for sure. He was pale, paler than anything Ron had ever seen, and covered from head to toe in bruises. Not an inch of his best friend was really left unscathed, and deep purple circles covering most of his body. He looked like he'd been beaten to a pulp, with blood overtly clear in his mouth. To say he looked dead was almost an understatement. Harry looked like he could never have been alive.

Ron's fists clenched, his teeth ground and his temper rose. How could they do this? How could they possibly cause such brutal disfiguration to one whose only crime was to be born? With raw anger driving him, he turned to the small procession of captured Death Eaters being led towards Hogwarts castle and punched the closest one square in the jaw. Hard. Hard enough to leave a deep purple bruise. He thought is was rather fitting.

-:-O-:-

He ran. He had run as soon as he thought it was safe to get away, and now he kept going. He had shed his mask long ago and was now just running. Draco was himself again, though he didn't think he could get the filth off of him. It was permanent, it would forever cling to him. Nothing could change the fact that he had worn that mask of terror, that mask of evil.

Bursting through the doors to Hogwarts castle, he shot off down the closest corridor. If anyone saw him, they might wonder at the fact that the usually calm and composed Draco Malfoy was currently bolting through the corridors at lightning pace. No one was there to see him, though; the first and second years at the Quidditch pitch for some activity Dumbledore had decided to organise for reasons Draco couldn't grasp. He had beaten the medical staff up here, and everyone else was down in Hogsmeade. Even the third years. Even the poor, innocent third years had witnessed the terrifying sight that was the Death Eaters. Even the poor, innocent third years had witnessed the agony that was torture.

Thinking about it made him want to retch, and once he reached the bathrooms in the Slytherin dormitory that was what he did. It was disgusting, but he had done it so many times that he was used to it. Usually it was from his own pain, though, not that of others. That was an emotion Draco was still coming to grips with.

As he wiped the last of the bile from the corners of his mouth, onto the sleeve of his robe, he staggered out of the bathroom and towards his room. He inhaled through his nose, trying to keep his mucus contained and his tears back. He was enough of a wreck as it was, and if anyone came in now he needed to be as prim and proper as he could manage. He may as well not have bothered, as he still look dreadful, but it was a compulsion, a habit. It was something he had to do to stay alive every moment of every day, and it didn't stop just because he was depressed. Staying alive was first on his list of priorities – something that would surprise many – and how to do so was ingrained deeply into him.

Finally, he reached his room, shutting the door firmly behind him just as he heard someone enter. He had been lucky. Fumbling in his pockets he found the long, slender piece of wood he was looking for and soon secured his room. At last, he was safe.

That was when he collapsed. In his own private room, sanctioned off from the rest of the world, he was finally free. There was no one here but him and, though the lack of a confident scared him and made him feel lonely, he knew it was just reminiscent of his life. He was alone and every day he struggled alone. No one could possibly understand how that felt, to be completely alone in the world, isolated from everyone else. It was painful, it was torture, it was murder.

Sliding down the door, he hunched over on the floor in a heaped mess. Then he cried and he cried and he cried. He let it all out in a way that he had also done many times. Tear after tear rolled down his cheek, sniff after sniff relieved his issues. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that this wouldn't make them go away, but it certainly made them feel better, at least for now. That was all he really cared about – that he could feel at peace for once. He had given up on happiness, he'd even forgotten about just being content. Now, all he wanted was to have some sort of resignation, to be able to live his life as some sort of shell that didn't feel or want. A pretty fucked up dream, he would agree. It wouldn't happen, though; he was far too head-strong.

He glanced down at his wand and the thought that had lingered in the back of his mind for months came to the forefront once again. He couldn't deny that he hadn't considered it, because he most certainly had, he had dreamed of feeling that release from his life. There was no way he could actually do it, though. Death was so final, even if it was so appealing. Draco knew he couldn't bring himself to do that any more than he could merrily torture someone.

Hours pasts as he just sat there. Eventually, he stopped crying. Not because he felt at peace, but because he ran out of tears. Then, he just sat and thought. Until well after dinner was over and people were settling into their beds, worried about what tomorrow might bring, he sat there, slumped, thinking about his life, the war and his sick, twisted father.

-:-O-:-

The hospital wing at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was a nice quiet resting place for all those who had managed to injure themselves during the course of their magical studies. At least, that was normally, and Hermione Granger could not believe the transformation. It was barely an hour since the Death Eaters had attacked Hogsmeade, but, already, the room looked like it had housed these people for years. Stations were already set up for those with only minor injuries; workers quickly healing them and sending them on their way. Those with worse injuries had Madame Pomfrey slowly doing what she could. Some of them had been hit with some nasty curses. Some of them had been hit with Unforgivables.

Hermione was just glad no one had been hit with an _Avada Kedavra_.

"Madame Pomfrey?" she asked shyly, knowing that the medi-witch was busy, but knowing that she needed to interrupt nonetheless. It wasn't as if she would be slowly down any time soon, especially considering that the people from St Mungo's still hadn't arrived.

"What is it?!" she snapped, turning on Hermione. Soon realising her mistake, however, she simply bit her lip and attempted a smile. "Sorry," she apologised. "He's through there." Her pristine, medical hands indicating a door to a sanctioned section of the Hospital Wing.

Hermione advanced through, not really sure what to expect on the other side. She had seen Harry on the battlefield, and she feared the worst. As she entered the separate room and closed the door to the main ward behind her, the first thing she noticed was the drop in noise. It was quiet in here – quite eerie, really. The second thing she noticed was the sullen expressions on everyone's faces. Ron was there, she noticed, slumped in his chair, looking a combination of angry and sorrowful. She noticed Lupin, standing with a hat he was nervously fiddling with in his hands. Dumbledore was there too, though he wasn't quite as morose, taking on a mask of thoughtful reflection. Not that she expected anything less.

"Hello Miss Granger," that very same man said, glancing over his half-moon spectacles at the newcomer. "I'm glad to see that you are all right. I trust you aren't too beaten up after what happened earlier today?"

"_God, he makes it sound like it was friendly Quidditch match or something."_

"No, headmaster, thank you. I'm fine." She paused, glancing over at her friend lying on the hospital bed. "Worried, is all."

"And quite understandably, too, Miss Granger."

"Look Albus," Lupin interjected. It was a long time coming, Hermione could tell. From the way he had been fidgeting Hermione was surprised he hadn't burst and insisted on hearing the news earlier. "Do you know what's wrong with Harry or not?"

For the first time since she entered the room, Hermione took a good look at her friend. She hadn't wanted to, avoiding it for as long as she could for fear of what she would see, but now it was inevitable. Well, he looked better than he did when she saw him on the battlefield, at least. Some colour had started to come back to him and a lot of the bruising seemed to have disappeared. Hermione suspected Madame Pomfrey had something to do with that. He was still unconscious, though, which wasn't a good thing in her books. He looked somewhat at rest, so that was probably a good thing also. She worried how much rest he was actually getting these days.

"He's theoretically fine," Albus said, effectively ending Hermione's mental diagnosis. "I'm not sure what happened, though I have no doubt some of you saw it. I am surprised, really. It's not supposed to be possible. We have no idea what will happen, though I suspect he's in some sort of magical coma. To have been able to do what he did, well, that would've taken a great deal of magical expenditure..."

"Um, sir..." Hermione interjected, for once unsure of what was going on, "may I ask: what exactly did Harry do?"

"Why, you did not see, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked. Hermione shook her head in reply. It was Lupin who answered her.

"He blocked an _Avada Kedavra_." Hermione just gasped.

-:-O-:-

"I still can't believe he did it, Ron," Hermione said, entering the room and squeezing tightly on her boyfriend's shoulder. Ron just nodded in return, swallowing heavily. He was very worried, she could tell, and he had been for the past two weeks – ever since Harry had fallen into the coma. It was, obviously, something she would have expected – after all, she was worried too – but, she wished he would talk to her about it.

"I can," was Ron's simple reply.

"You can?" Hermione had to move to get a better look at Ron's face, she couldn't believe he had said such a thing.

"Well, come on Hermione! You waltz in here every day proclaiming how you don't believe Harry could have been so noble and brave but, please, we both know just how noble and brave Harry is. Stop making him out to be some dishonourable scum because you know just as well as I do that, if anyone was to give their lives for someone else, it would be Harry."

Once again, Hermione was struck by the loyalty of Ron. He would defend his friends to the very end no matter what, and she still couldn't believe that she was one of those lucky people he placed on the list of people he'd defend. It was touching, she thought, and it made her feel very wanted and accepted and, dare she say it, loved. Plus, she knew there was a little truth to what he was saying. Hell, there was a lot of truth to what he was saying. Harry was willing to face possible death to fight for the freedom of strangers who seemed to do nothing but ridicule him, of course he was capable of placing himself between someone he admired, looked up to since he was a small child, and the Killing Curse. Not only was Ron loyal, but Harry was loyal as well. Perfect Gryffindors, the both of them.

"You're right," she said, realising that, for once, she had been wrong. "He would do something like that." She paused, setting herself down on his lap and settling herself so she could lean comfortably against his chest. "You know him better than I do," she finished quietly.

"Not at the moment," Ron replied, just as quietly. Hermione sighed at the truth.

"No one knows him at the moment."

Silence stretched across the small room attached to the Hospital Wing where the two of them sat, watching over their friend who lay comatose in his small bed. They were happy just to sit in each other's arms, making sure no harm came to their loyal friend to whom which nothing in life seemed to come easy.

"Do you think, when he wakes up, he'll be better or worse?" Ron asked eventually. Hermione noticed the use of "when" rather than "if". That was a good sign. Sadly, "when" could be a very long time.

"Better, I hope. I just want him to trust us enough to talk to us about it."

"I want him to trust anyone enough to talk to them about it."

A second silence took over the room for quite some time, until Hermione finally turned and kissed Ron on the nose.

"I'm glad I have you, Ronald Bilius Weasley."

"And I'm glad I have you, Hermione Jane Granger."

-:-O-:-

Draco Malfoy moved slowly through the corridors, knowing full well the time of night and what he was doing. His stealth was unmatched by may though, apart from Potter, who had the ability to almost vanish during the night if he so wished. He wasn't skulking along the walls as one might expect, but looked like it was the most normal thing to wander the corridors and his venture perfectly within the rules. It was the fact that he made not a noise as he walked that never gave him away. Plus, he was sure the way he walked like this fooled Mrs Norris into thinking he was meant to be here.

Eventually, he arrived at his destination: the hospital wing. The normally bright white room was dark in the shadow and it was hard to see. As he searched the edges of the room for the door he needed, he mentally prepared himself for the task at hand. It would be hard – it would be impossibly hard – but he had expected that. He just still wasn't sure he was ready. The doorknob clasped in his hand, he sighed and mentally told himself he was. As ready as he would ever be.

He opened the door to a small private room that housed one Harry Potter. It was darker in here, and a quick _Lumos_ was required in order for him to see properly. He bit his lip when he saw Potter lying there, dead to the world. The "Chosen One" didn't look all that well, Draco decided. It could have been worse, should have been worse, after what he was hit with, but it was a little shocking nonetheless.

Moving slowly into the room he set his illuminated wand down at the beside table and sat in a nearby chair. There was only one chair in the room, and Draco wondered where Granger and Weasley both sat when they came to visit their friend. Probably in each other's laps, he had no doubt. If the pair weren't going out already they were both stupid. Their amorous feelings were so overt an especially idiotic troll could work it out.

"Well, eeeerrr... hello," Draco started lamely. It felt so weird, talking to someone who couldn't hear him and wouldn't respond. Yet, he ploughed on, knowing that he had to continue. He felt like sprinting back to his common room, snuggle up in his bed and forget his ridiculous idea. The need to tell someone won; he needed a confident, even if it was a comatose Potter.

The notion had come to him little more than a few days ago. After the battle, his stupor had steadily gotten worse. He hadn't wanted to talk to anyone, hadn't wished to attend classes, had wanted to skip meals. Most of all, he hadn't wanted to hold up his Malfoy façade. Talking to someone was meant to help, he was told, and the only one he could trust was someone who wouldn't hear – Potter.

"You're probably wondering what I'm doing here," he continued. "That's a, ummm, long story, actually. Would you like to hear it?" Silence resounded around the room and Draco decided that could pass as a yes. "All right then, I'll tell you. I have a confession to make and you're the only one I can make it too. Ha! think about it Potter: you're the only one who I can trust. Sad, really, isn't it? That the only one in the world I can tell is my worst enemy. Still, that's the life I lead, Potter. That's the life I lead...

"I'm not a Death Eater, Potter. Yes, sorry to disappoint, but I'm not actually as evil as I seemed. It's a façade, Harry, a mask. Do you mind if I call you that: Harry? It's a nice name and I've decided that, seen as you are my confident and secret-keeper, I should call you by your first name. You don't mind do you?" Harry's chest continued to rise and fall in long, calm breaths; silence still enveloped the room. "I'll take that as a yes."

"Well, as I was saying, I'm not actually a follower of You Know Who. He's a bit too cruel for my tastes. I don't actually get enjoyment out of torturing people. I've been tortured enough times to know how awful the feeling is. I bet that's another thing you didn't know about me, Harry – that I've been tortured. Tortured in more ways than one, too. Sure, my body's taken a beating. I've been hit with the Cruciatus more times than you could count. I've been beaten to badly I kept vomiting and pissing blood for days after. My father's hit me with curses I didn't even know existed and wouldn't even try to pronounce. Yes, you heard right, my father. He's the one that's tortured me beyond belief.

"He's done it to me mentally, too. Do you know what it's like to choose between your life and the life of another?" There was a feeble attempt at a laugh from Draco. "Of course you do. Well, that's one thing we have in common then, don't we Harry? Except you chose to end your life instead of let another die. I couldn't do that. I wished I was able to, it would've saved me so much pain, but I couldn't. I don't want to die, Harry; I'm a coward. Life is severely fucked and death would be so much sweeter, but I can't end it. I'm fucking petrified." He wiped his tears on his sleeve.

"You probably don't know what it's like, growing up with parents who think you're a failure. Everywhere you look they're trying to improve you; trying to mould you into a perfect son. They don't care about you, they don't tuck you in at night, they don't tell you bedtime stories, they don't hug you and kiss you and tell you everything will be all right when you have a nightmare. I was always envious of you for that – having a family. I don't have one of those. Parents are meant to love. I have guardians, not parents.

"Anyway, I have to go, I don't think I can stand sharing too many of my secrets in one day. Perhaps I'll be back tomorrow, I like talking to you. You listen, Harry, did you know that?" Draco stood, looking less than his perfect self. Talking, for the first time in his whole life, had really taken it out of him. His eyes were red from tears, his nose sniffling and his sleeve damp. Moving towards the door and opening it, he went to leave.

At the last moment he turned back around and added, "Just so as you know, in case you hadn't already guessed, I'm on your side, Harry Potter." With that he muttered a _Nox_ and left.

-:-O-:-

**Author's Note:** Review? puppy dog eyes Trust me, reviews are so motivating.

I know that _Levicorpus_ was technically created by Snape and unknown to most of the world in canon, but can we call it creative licence? This story doesn't have "the half-blood Prince" and no potions book by him, and I knew you'd all know what the spell did.

By the way, you'll find out how they got together. Don't worry, I'm not that mean. Often.


	4. Confessions

**[Harry Potter and the Cursed Amulet]**

IV

_Confessions_

"Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth."  
Oscar Wilde

Time kept marching on at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, despite the fact that Harry James Potter slept unwittingly on. The Quidditch season had started and Gryffindor lost their first game to Slytherin without their star seeker and, now, captain. Mid-year exams were also drawing nearer and nearer, with many students, especially one Hermione Jane Granger, stressing about the outcome. She was also worried Harry would miss them. Ron envied Harry quite a bit.

Nobody talked of the disaster that was the previous Hogsmeade visit. Dumbledore had cancelled any future trips, of which Severus Snape was quite glad, though he didn't show it. Instead, Dumbledore had declared that there was to be a dance for those in the third year or higher, something that surprised even the staff. The speech he made that breakfast was long, talking of how they could not be foolish and walk right into danger – Snape snorted at this point – but they still had to live their lives. This, he decided, was a suitable alternative. Most of the females seemed to agree with him. Some of the males did also, though some detested the idea. Ron, despite his atrocious dancing skills, quite liked the idea of a night dancing with Hermione. He asked her that very night, and she said yes. It sounded like the Yule Ball they should have had.

Both, while happy for each other, were deeply concerned for their friend. Hermione still couldn't get Ron to talk about it, and that wasn't a good sign. He was nowhere near as bad as what Harry had been, though, and he was still happy in all other areas of life. Hermione was hoping it would go away when Harry woke up. If that ever happened. Every day Hermione and Ron visited their friend and every day they hoped to see his eyes flutter open and his mouth form words they would rejoice in hearing. Every day they were disappointed when it didn't happen. Dumbledore couldn't tell them what was wrong or why he had been unconscious for so long, but the two students could tell that even he was worried.

Draco visited him almost every night, without anyone's knowledge. He had felt better after the first night, so he had tried again. The calming effect talking to someone had on him – even if it was a someone who could neither hear nor answer – became something he needed to survive. He had been able to stand food again, stand talking to people, stand listening in class and even feign interest in humiliating and degrading people. As much as he hated to admit it, he relied on his inanimate rival, even if his rival didn't realise it. Draco was probably the only one in the castle who truly didn't want Harry to wake up. He didn't know what he would do without a sleeping Gryffindor to confide in.

The night after Dumbledore made the announcement about the dance, Draco headed off to Harry's private hospital bed, as he always did. He moved down the corridors he moved down every night; he entered the hospital wing he entered every night. The doorknob to the separate room was located, just like it was every night, with each night taking less and less time. By now, he could almost walk right up and grasp onto it in the dark. Almost. Soon he was once again in the hospital room of Harry James Potter, sitting beside his bed with a wand sitting on the bedside table illuminating the room. The situation happened every night and was so familiar and dear to him, yet it still felt so foreign. He couldn't believe that he was actually here, confessing his darkest secrets to an unconscious Harry Potter.

"Hello Harry, I'm back," Draco began. "Did you miss me?" There was a pause. Draco knew well what Harry's real answer to that question would be, but he had not the heart to admit it to himself.

"Something interesting happened this morning. Dumbledore made another one of his little announcements. Don't worry" – Draco let out a slight chuckle – "there won't be any trips to Hogsmeade any time soon. It seems Dumbledore's learnt _that_ lesson. No, there's going to be a dance. Isn't that exciting? Well, I find it exciting at least. It's a shame I'll have to go with Pansy, really. She's annoying me out of my mind at the moment, wanting to know what's wrong, being very... clingy." There was a pause as Draco thought; his voice taking on a more serious tone as he continued.

"You might know this already, Harry, but I'm in an arranged marriage. Have been since I was born, pretty much. My parents know what they want from me, and that's what they expect to be delivered. When I finish school I have only a few years before I marry Pansy and only a few more before we have to have a child. It's not something I like, having my life already planned out for me." There was a pause, as Draco thought about what he said, before he continued. "You understand that, don't you Harry. Having your life planned for you? I think you might..." Draco gave a weak smile, sitting in reflection for a few moments, before getting up and leaving.

-:-O-:-

"Well, I am your _girlfriend_, Ron. It is sort of _expected_ that I would go to the dance with you." Hermione said, laughing slightly as she did so. Sometimes her boyfriend could be quite thick indeed.

"Yeah, I know that," Ron mumbled, with a goofy, little grin of his own. It had been plastered on his face for the last few minutes – ever since Hermione had accepted his offer to go with him to the dance. "Still, it's just... I didn't get to go with you to the Yule Ball and this'll be... like... our _first date_."

"Oh, Ron," Hermione said, a little blush creeping into her cheeks. Feeling amorous, she leant forward and gave him a short, but sweet, kiss on his lips. It was Ron's turn to blush when the wolf-whistles and hollers came from behind him.

"Seamus, would you knock it off!" Ron's voice exclaimed, not even turning to look at the culprit.

"Hey! it's not just me," Seamus replied defensively, flopping down on the lounge beside Ron.

"No, you're just the loudest," Ron returned, rather sarcastically.

"So, you're going to the dance together?" Dean asked with a smirk, sitting himself in a large armchair next to Hermione in the same unceremonious manner.

"You bet your life we are!" Ron hastened to reply, making Hermione laugh at his eagerness. "What?" he queried her.

"Oh, nothing," she replied, still laughing, before giving him a kiss, which settled his nerves quite a bit.

"Will you two knock it off?" Neville groaned, sitting himself on the floor in front of the lounge chair.

"No," Ron replied, kissing Hermione again, perhaps a little longer this time.

"When you're quite done," Dean said, rolling his eyes.

"Fine," Ron sighed, positioning himself so that Hermione could sit between his legs and lean into his chest. "So, who are _you_ going to the ball with, Dean?"

"I don't know, mate, some of us don't have girlfriends they can ask _that night_. Some of us will actually wait until a more suitable time."

"Hey! it's only a couple of months before."

"Try three or four," Seamus retorted, complete with a smirk.

"Well I see no problem with it," Hermione said with a smile, turning slightly and kissing Ron quickly again.

"You wouldn't," Neville added dryly. Seamus and Dean laughed. Ron, having drawn Hermione into a long and languorous kiss, yanked a cushion out from under him and, after swatting Seamus in the stomach, threw it at Neville. "Hey!" a rather disconcertedNeville exclaimed, before throwing the cushion back. Unfortunately the cushion hit Hermione instead of the intended target.

"Neville Longbottom!" Hermione cried, breaking the kiss with a look of jovial furiousness in her eyes. The cushion was soon thrown back, and all hell broke loose. The rest of the common room just stared in amazement as five of their peers threw cushions back and forth in the small lounge area in front of the fire. It began as Seamus, Dean and Neville versus Ron and Hermione, but became everyone for themselves when Ron playfully hit Hermione on the thigh, and she reciprocated quite a lot harder. The couch and armchair soon became barricades; Seamus discovering they weren't the best when he moved up to launch his cushion – turned grenade – and four cushions simultaneously hit him in the face. Their fight ended when a seventh year prefect intervened. The five of them were quite disappointed.

-:-O-:-

Draco turned the doorknob he had turned many times before and entered the room he had been in many nights before. He hadn't been coming to visit Harry long, but already it seemed like he had all his life. These visits meant more to Draco than he could admit; the chance to talk about his screwed up life something he wasn't willing to give up. Casting _Lumos_ once again he slipped into the chair and just sat there for a few moments, watching the boy he was supposed to hate.

"You know what I realised today?" he said, the process of vocalising his inner-most thoughts beginning once again. "I come and visit my worst enemy every night and tell him, while he is unconscious, why I hate my life. Strange, isn't it?" There was a pause before he continued. "Still, I like it, don't you? No, you probably don't, but I do. It gives me a chance to be myself; show someone that I'm not really that much of a heartless bastard. I'm not that much of a bastard, am I? I hope not." He paused, then sighed.

"I don't want to be, you know. I know I've told you before, but I hope you don't mind if I tell you again. It's just... so hard sometimes." He blinked away tears and swallowed, before continuing. "I don't know if I'm going to even be alive next week, or the week after that. If I slip up, that's it. I'm dead; or worse. I shouldn't forget the 'or worse', even though I try to. It's there, though. I'm scared of that probably even more than death. My father can do things I don't even want to think about, and the Dark Lord, well, one can only imagine what he's capable of. If either of them found out what I was doing now, or even what I'm telling you, they... they..." That was it, Draco couldn't continue. He broke down and cried. He cried in front of someone for the first time in his life – even if that someone was unconscious.

No matter how hard he tried to ignore, reminders appeared everywhere of just how awful his life had been.

-:-O-:-

"How is he, Ron?"

"Same as always, Hermione, same as always." The girl sighed as she sat on the closest side of her friend's bed. He was right, she could see that as she looked across at their sleeping companion. Harry looked like he always did – completely out to the world.

"I don't know how much longer I can stand this waiting, Hermione," Ron said sullenly. "I know he'll come out of it eventually, but I can't help worrying."

"Me too, Ron, me too." Hermione's sombre voice was interrupted by the opening of the door.

"How is he, mate?" Seamus asked. Behind him stood Dean and Neville.

"He's sleeping like a baby," Hermione said. "I tell you, he must be tired." Despite the gravity of the situation and the sobriety of the room, everyone couldn't help but laugh. Somehow, it seemed like all that they could do. This room had been quite morose place to visit for all of them these past couple of weeks, even though they knew that Harry was technically fine and would recover in perfect health. Laughter managed to dispel the tension that was thick in the room; laughter managed to soothe everyone's harrowed nerves.

"You know, the Quidditch team's not doing so well without you, Harry," Dean said, moving over and sitting next to his sleeping friend. "We're doing quite miserably, actually."

"Now, Dean, we aren't _that_ bad," Ron chided.

"Well, no, we can still score points and part of the team's doing pretty good," Dean explained slowly, almost apologetically.

"What he means is that you're the only Seeker in the school who can beat Malfoy, mate," Seamus explained quickly, moving around to the far side to the bed and ruffling his sleeping friend's hair. "You're the only bloody Seeker Gryffindor's got!"

"I wouldn't say that exactly," Ron said, furrowing his brow.

"Please, Ron," Hermione said, rolling her eyes, proving she was quite capable at melodrama. "Even Ginny admits she's nowhere near the standard of Harry and the others."

"All right," Ron conceded, "maybe not _quite_ as good as the other Seekers..."

"Ronald Weasley! Don't you dare!" a shrill voice in the doorway shrieked, Ginny swatting her brother over the back of his head. "I suck and you know it." She jumped onto the bed – lightly, so as not to disturb Harry, of course – between Dean and Hermione and proceeded to say to the sleeping boy, "You better wake up fast, or we'll lose to _Hufflepuff_, Harry." There were chuckles around the room coming from everyone except Hermione, who rolled her eyes, even though she knew it was meant in jest.

"You know, we're all jealous with all the school you're missing," Neville spoke up for the first time from his position beside Seamus.

"Hermione's not," Ron said with a smirk, moving and sitting at the end of the bed, between Neville and his girlfriend. Unfortunately, that meant he was within her hitting distance.

"Not funny Ronald," she said, even though she was finding it hard to suppress a grin. These days, it hurt little when one of her friends teased her for her love of learning – especially Ron.

"Besides, Ron," Dean added, "Hermione will probably help him with studying, seen as he's missed so much. _He'll_ be getting the good grades."

"Lucky bitch," Seamus said, looking over at the sleeping boy he was referring to. Hermione couldn't stop gaping.

The friendly banter continued; the conversations stretching on throughout the rest of the afternoon. Everyone had a good time, even though one of them was unconscious in a magical coma. Somehow it didn't seem to bother them. They knew that this is what Harry would've wanted; Harry would've wanted them to keep laughing and having fun. Though, as Dean thought about it, he wasn't so sure. That was what the old Harry would've wanted, but the Harry of this year was completely different. The Harry of this year was one he didn't recognise; there was no telling what he would have wanted.

Eventually, Hermione was forced to break up the avid conversation, reminding them all that curfew was fast approaching. Dean walked back to the common room quietly, still pondering the changes that had occurred in his friend. Ever since the Sorting Feast he had been withdrawn and morose. He had started to get better as the term had gone on, Dean remembered, but then started going back downhill. There was no way of telling why, at least not without more knowledge. The problem was, Harry wasn't very forthcoming with more knowledge.

"Hey, Dean, you all right? You've gone a little quiet," Seamus said, not loud enough for any of the other Gryffindors to hear.

"Yeah, fine," he replied, "just thinking."

Of course, the trip back to the common room couldn't be as simple as they had planned. In fact, it had to be a lot _harder_ than they had planned. One Draco Malfoy decided to come strutting along, his usual aloofdemeanour in place. Not only that, but he was followed by Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini and Nott; Pansy Parkinson draped over his side. Dean couldn't help but roll his eyes as the Slytherin band approached the Gryffindor band. No matter how much they detested each other, they always seemed to want to be together.

"Well, well, well," a sneering Malfoy began, "if it isn't the leaderless Gryffindors. How is he these days? Still slacking in the infirmary, is he?" Malfoy: he was most certainly an enigma. Almost like their Harry, except more cruel. Dean had noticed a change in the young Malfoy. When Ron had told him about Malfoy's response to his jibes, or lack thereof, Dean had been interested.He had noticed a few times that Malfoy seemed to no longer provoke the Gryffindors, or anyone else for that matter. It had been odd, but worse was that he had just started doing it again. One day he just magically became Malfoy again: taunting all he could and acting above everyone else.

"I wouldn't say that, Malfoy," Ron spat back. "He blocked a Killing Curse. You ever done that? Takes a bit out of you."

"Yeah, whatever." It was Blaise Zabini who spoke up. "Can't say we have a love of saving annoying old fools who deserve to be dead." That got the Gryffindors riled up.

"You watch your tongue, Zabini, before I hex it off." Ginny's eyes flared with anger; her wand was already up and waiting.

"Mature response, Weasel," Parkinson sneered. "Couldn't think of a smart comeback, so just resort to threats, did you?"

"Don't talk about my sister like that, Parkinson."

"Oh, I'm so scared. Draco: save me!" The sarcasm in her voice was almost tangible. Her laugh that followed was worthy of Bellatrix LeStrange.

"As you should be, my dear," Malfoy said, his voice almost dripping with sarcasm. "Those second-hand wands work wonders with making people vomit slugs." The Slytherins all laughed; Ron went red, remembering his second year.

"At least he's not an asshole, Malfoy," Hermione retorted.

Malfoy just let out a, "Ha!" and added, "whatever, Mudblood." The hoard of Slytherins moved off.

"Come on," Seamus said, motioning the Gryffindors to move off also. "Malfoy's a jerk, anyway. The lot of them are."

"Crabbe and Goyle were as articulate as ever," Dean added in, trying to lighten the mood and appease the tempers. It worked. The Gryffindors went back to their common room laughing.

-:-O-:-

Draco was later than usual. It wasn't his fault, really. Pansy had decided she wanted to talk. He decided that it should have been a labour of Hercules to sit through that. There was a lot he wanted to talk to Harry about tonight, too. The confrontation with the Gryffindors had been quite disconcerting. Somehow it had reminded Draco of what life would be like after Harry woke up once again. It hadn't taken him long to reapply the pretence of hatred that had slipped, but pretending to hate Harry and sneer at him seemed like a daunting task. He saw Harry as a confident; Harry saw himself as no such thing.

Entering the hospital wing as he always did, he noticed something odd. There was light coming from behind the door to Harry's room. His instincts took over quickly; his wand was drawn without him even noticing. He skulked over to the door hunched, hiding in the shadows. Carefully and slowly he leaned in to the door and listened to what was going on on the other side. Someone was in there, Draco could hear their voice. Straining just a little he could hear the conversation.

"Harry, you have been unconscious for several weeks." It was a voice Draco recognised easily: the voice of Albus Dumbledore. "I must say we were starting to get a bit worried." Draco couldn't help the butterflies from fluttering around inside his stomach. Could this possibly mean that Harry was awake? Surely not. Surely Harry was still...

"I don't care at the moment, Headmaster." Draco blanched. Yes, it did. For the first time in about three weeks, Draco heard the voice of Harry Potter.

This couldn't be real, this couldn't possibly be real. His confident couldn't possibly be awake! He had finally found a way to live; he had finally found a way to maintain the Malfoy façade. Yet, what happened now? Harry had to go and wake up! Draco couldn't believe it. He was shattered. He pulled himself up onto a nearby hospital bed and sat, leaning against the wall, listening to the talk continue.

"Please, Albus, he's only been awake a few minutes, and already you are down here with him. Give the boy a moment or two."

Only a few minutes; and Draco had been late. That meant that, if Pansy hadn't wanted to talk to him, he would've probably been at Harry's bedside when he had woken up. His stomach twisted in fear at the idea, yet his heart fluttered with wanted relief. Part of him thanked the almighty deities – and Pansy – that she had kept him at the common room so late and he had escaped being found out and the shattering of his lifesaving mask. The other part of him wanted to curse Pansy to hell for preventing him from being there, forcing him to explain to Potter why he was and letting him in on his secret, making him Draco's confident for real. At this moment, he didn't know which part of his was greater, which outcome he wanted more. Right now he couldn't make out much through his clouded mind.

"_I have to get out of here."_

He had to flee back to his room: his safe house, his haven. Stumbling back across the infirmary and down the corridors, he eventually made it to the Slytherin dormitories. Once inside his private room, the wards were erected and he collapsed on his bed. He was confused, he was angry, he was distraught. Despite his troubled mind, he soon fell asleep, succumbing to the rest he needed to sort out the mess that Harry's awakening had created.

-:-O-:-

_Darkness. Infinite darkness. Day after day, night after night, the complete blackness surrounded him. Not that he could tell day from night; both were indivisible, both were identical. There was no telling how long he was down there, no telling how long he survived in that shadow. It just continued, minute after minute, hour after hour, day after day, until it finally started to lift. Perhaps that was the wrong word. It didn't lift; he lifted himself out of it._

_After exactly seventeen days in the darkness, he created a light. There was no incantation or spell, just a flow of strange, strong magic and an overwhelming hate. Harry could feel it; it consumed him. Every horrid memory, every lustful sin, every hating sneer ran through his mind once again. Every wrong done by him, every hand raised against him he saw and the hate he felt towards them fuelled the light as well. He detested life, he abhorred happiness and he loathed love. The light got stronger and stronger until he had, at last, gotten what he knew he wanted. Harry's laugh was twisted and mocking, sneering and jeering. He screamed as his own face came into view. It was a twisted face of evil._

Harry's scream continued into his consciousness. It didn't last for long, but it was loud and terrified. He tossed and turned in the unknown bed, clutching his chest, tears starting to trickle down his cheeks. His chest ached with pain and an anguish that wouldn't leave.

"Mr Potter!" It seemed that his scream had been loud enough to wake Madame Pomfrey from her slumber. In an instant she was in action, telling him to calm and stay still, casting diagnosis charms and giving him calming potions. The calming potion helped. He still felt agitated, but at least he could lay still and be examined. Still, he couldn't help this hollow numbness that seemed to fill him.

"Mr Potter, I'll be back in one moment, I just have to firecall the Headmaster. I'll be back soon." With that, Madame Pomfrey left the small, private room.

Harry lay there and thought. He had to be in the infirmary, that much was clear, though he'd never seen this particular room before. What he was here for, he couldn't remember. Wait, he remembered something about a battle. He strained his mind to remember more, but he soon shook his head. That wasn't going to be possible. Instead, he let his mind wander to what he'd just witnessed, what he'd just experienced. That dream.

"_Was it really a dream? It felt so real..."_

"_Of course it was a dream! What else could it have possibly been?"_

"_A vision..."_

It had been dark, and he didn't just mean he had had trouble seeing. That hatred, that lust for power, he had felt that. It had felt so tangible, so real, as if it was his own. But those eyes! When he recalled those man's eyes, he couldn't help but shudder. They had held nothing but hate; held nothing but malice. Harry would've preferred Voldemort's eyes to those, and that was truly saying something. All of a sudden, he felt uneasy. He bit his lip, rolled on his side, wanting to go back to sleep, but fearing what he would see if he did so.

"Harry, the Headmaster's coming," came Madame Pomfrey's voice as she re-entered. Harry sniffed in response; she seemed to notice he was upset. Though she continued checking on him, making sure he was well, she did so quietly, letting him have a few moments to himself. She couldn't help a stab of sorrow hitting her heart and said quietly, "It'll be all right, Harry."

"No it won't," he replied quietly. There was a sneer in his voice that shocked the healer. In all of the times Harry had visited the hospital wing – and with Harry's knack for trouble, that seemed to be quite regularly – she had never heard that malevolent undertone in his voice.

"Hello Poppy," the Headmaster's voice at the door said. He had been fast in getting down here; it had been only a minute or two since Harry had woken up and even less time since she firecalled him. She could tell he hadn't heard his pupil's voice. She couldn't determine whether that was a good or a bad thing.

"Evening Albus," she replied, despite the fact that it was a little later than evening. Harry had chosen a rather inconvenient time to wake up. Poppy Pomfrey continued to move around and perform her duties, yet one could tell she was flustered. She still couldn't get over that sneer in Harry's voice.

"Hello Harry, nice to see you awake and alert," the Headmaster said, moving around and sitting on the only chair in the little room. Harry made no effort to reply, but just lay there, turned away from his Headmaster and mentor. Albus Dumbledore didn't frown – Albus Dumbledore never frowned – but he came close. Harry was not normally so anti-social, or so rude.

"Harry, you have been unconscious for several weeks," he said, trying again to provoke a response. "I must say we were starting to get a bit worried." Dumbledore moved forward in his chair, leaning closer for a response. What he got, shocked him. Harry rolled over slightly to glare at his mentor, a glare of malice Dumbledore knew only few could produce. Dumbledore had not seen his usually happy, cheerful and peaceful student show such vehement hatred. Ever.

"I don't care at the moment, Headmaster," Harry snarled, before pulling the covers of his bed tighter around him and turning his back on his Headmaster once more. The old man to which he spoke just sat there, stunned, for once at a loss for words. There was silence for a moment, where no one knew what to say, or didn't want to say a thing.

Madame Pomfrey broke the silence, saying, "Please, Albus, he's only been awake a few minutes, and already you are down here with him. Give the boy a moment or two." Albus nodded.

"Yes, Poppy, I think you're right." He stood, going to leave, before turning back and adding, "Harry; I'll let you rest and recover tomorrow, adjust to things." He was sure there was a snort from the boy at this point. "I'll make sure your friends do not disturb you, but they'll be itching to see you by tomorrow afternoon. If Madame Pomfrey says you'll be all right, you can go back to Gryffindor tower then." There was a hint of sadness in his voice as he said it all. He left the hospital wing biting his lip, deep in thought.

Madame Pomfrey continued to work quietly. She could sense something was wrong with the boy she was treating, but she could also sense he didn't want to talk about it – and wasn't going to, for that matter. Finishing up what she had to do, she turned to leave. Just before she left, while standing in the doorway, she, too, turned.

"Sleep well, Mr Potter." There was no reaction, although she not expected one.

Harry was glad when the healer finally left. Pulling the blankets even tighter around himself, he tried to fall back asleep, but he knew it wouldn't come. The memory of what he'd seen still haunted him; the remnants of the emotions still present in him. It was like his trips into Voldemort's head, except the happy thoughts didn't take over and the hatred didn't subside. Instead, it just lingered, infesting his thoughts and his words. As much as he hated to admit it, this wizard, whoever he was, was much much worse than Voldemort. The power Harry had felt, could still feel, far surpassed anything he could have ever dreamed of. The malice Harry felt from Voldemort was pitiful compared to this wizard's sheer, undeniable hate. This wizard, Harry thought he could say with confidence, was pure, unadulterated evil.

He closed his eyes, but all he saw was that set of eyes that made him shiver once again. It seemed that he had been right; sleep was not an option at the moment. Instead, he thought. He had been lying in this bed, unconscious, for over two weeks now. There was much he did not know and plenty he now had to catch up on. His mind wandered through rudimentary things – school, his friends, even the weather – until he finally managed to drift off to sleep. Even though he did not dream of the wizard, his sleep was restless nonetheless.

-:-O-:-

Harry woke late the next morning. It wasn't long before Madame Pomfrey brought him his lunch: soup. Apparently it would help ease him into eating once again, as he hadn't done so in a few weeks. Her statement had brought back memories of his childhood, when he would be starved for weeks and, when finally given some food, he would throw it up because he wasn't used to it. It took him some time to learn that lesson, but he did it the hard way.

He still didn't feel like talking to anyone; the memories of that hatred and those eyes still plagued him. No matter how hard he tried, the bitterness and resentment wouldn't leave him. The powerful emotions of hatred and loathing had left him during the night, but they had been replaced by their lesser, though more permanent, cousins. While these emotions allowed him to talk civilly to Madame Pomfrey while she attended to him, they could easily flare up to their more raw and malevolent state. He had found that out when the nurse accidentally spilt a potion on him – she was still nervous around her patient – and he had his wand out ready to hex her, anger in his eyes and sharp words on his lips. Luckily, he had realised what had happened, performed a quick _Scourgify_ and hastily tucked his wand away, mumbling apologies as he did so. That was when the depression first surfaced.

The bitterness and resentment never truly left, but every now and then they gave birth to their child: depression. Generally, it would come on quickly, but there was no telling how long it would take to subside. Perhaps a few moments, perhaps several minutes, at one point almost an hour. When it was brief, it tended to be brutal; a sudden wave of despondency that struck him to the heart, but soon subsided. When it was lasting, it tended to be gloomy; a perpetual sadness that refused to budge and left one with the impression he was moping.

Between all the members of this family of emotions, Harry was not having a particularly happy day. That was one of the reasons Madame Pomfrey decided he would not be going back to the common room that afternoon, but remain one more night. She thought he needed a little break; he thought he needed a distraction. Not that he would find one. He had had enough trouble finding a distraction before he fell into the coma – with little success, too – and those emotions had been far weaker.

When Harry woke the next day, he woke with the remnants of a dream in his memory. It had been horrific, but he didn't think it had been a nightmare per se. The shards of remembrance left before he had a chase to decide, however, and his activities began as they had the previous day. He felt no change from the day before. Madame Pomfrey didn't either, apart from the fact that she could now start him on food with more substance. Still, when Dumbledore pulled her aside and talked with her, she acquiesced to letting him return to his dormitory that night, seen as he was technically better.

That night, Dumbledore came into Harry's room and tried, once again, to talk. Harry was civil and responded, but the answers he gave were short and delivered with contempt. Dumbledore didn't push too far. Instead, he let Harry go back to his dormitory. He thanked Madame Pomfrey for all she had done, even though a troll could figure out the words of gratitude were hollow, before taking the few things of his that he had with him and following Dumbledore back to Gryffindor tower. They didn't talk on the way, that hadn't been the intention. Dumbledore was there to ensure no one accosted Harry.

"Well, Harry, here you are," Dumbledore said as they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. "I believe the current password is 'Bouncing Ferret'." Even that didn't soothe Harry's foul mood.

He muttered the password and passed into the common room without another word to Dumbledore. Dumbledore merely frowned and, once again, bit his lip in thought as he walked away.

Once he was inside and away from Dumbledore's protective gaze, the accosting quickly began. Hermione was the first, followed quickly by Ron and then Seamus, Dean and Ginny. The rest of the Gryffindors just gaped and stared.

"Harry! you are all right, aren't you?"

"When we heard you had to stay another night, well..."

"We might actually have a chance at Quidditch now!"

"Guys, please." Harry silenced them with his hand; his voice held the slightest hint of a snarl. Thankfully, it seemed his friends were too worried to pick up on it, or they dismissed it for now. "Let me get settled first." With that he made his way through the crowd and up the stairs to the boys dormitories. The few things he had brought back from the hospital wing were soon deposited on his bed.

"So, Harry, you are all right, aren't you?" Hermione asked tentatively, standing in the doorway.

Harry sighed, but replied, "Yes, Hermione. I'm all right." He knew he wasn't.

"Good, mate, we were getting worried." Ron smiled affectionately as he said it.

"Can we talk now, or should we come back later?" Dean said, concern and consideration in his voice. Harry swallowed and nodded. He felt like screaming at them to leave him alone and curse them into oblivion, but that probably wasn't something he should tell them. Besides, he may as well get this over with, he reasoned. The people standing in the doorway shuffled into the room. Harry noticed Neville had joined the group. They all sat on the end of their beds – some choosing to lie on them with their heads at the end – which formed a circle they could talk in. Hermione sat with Ron; Ginny with Neville.

"Before we start, Harry," Hermione said, "Ron and I need to tell you something." They looked at each other, slightly nervous expressions on their faces. "Harry, we're, sort of... well..."

"We're going out," Ron stated bravely, turning from his girlfriend to look at his best friend.

"I know," Harry said, furrowing his brow. He was confused; the rest of the the room shared confused looks as well. "I've seen you together plenty of times," Harry went on, slowly.

"Harry, we've only been going out since you... ummm... 'fell asleep'." Hermione sounded nervous. Harry blanched as he realised her statement's implications.

It was true. His only memories of them together were in a small room sanctioned off from the rest of the hospital wing.

-:-O-:-

**Author's Note: **Deathly Hallows comes out in two days! I hope you're all excited. I know I am.

Might I note that whenever I see DH, I automatically think Draco/Harry instead of Deathly Hallows. Is this a problem other people seem to be having? Is this a sign for what the book will contain? (I'm hoping for the latter).


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